TN2 Issue 6 by Trinity News

Jesse Malin: romantic at heart

Bats Deirdre Madden Fur in fashion Cake shops Komar and Melamid tn2

13 January â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 26 January, 2009

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

13 Classic Stage Ireland’s production of The Winter’s Tale started a two-week run last night. Project Arts Theatre, 8.15 pm, €14

14 So, there’ll probably be a lot of small children knocking around, however, Mindless SelfIndulgence are highly entertaining live. The Academy, 7 pm, €25

15 Quality electronica merchanct Herv plus a whole load more play an indymedia.ie fundraiser tonight. The Lower Deck, 8 pm, €5/6

16 Wild Billy Childish and the Musicians of the British Empire is worth scoping out, if only to be in the presence of the man himself. Whelans, 7.30 pm, €18

17 Night 2 of the Father Ted Special Weekend, with comedians that appeared in the show taking to the stage. Laughter Lounge, 8.30 pm, €28

18 Feel like orchestrating a spot of group violence? Well, I hear X Factor runner-up Eoghan Quigg is in town tonight, that’s all I’m saying. The Academy, 7 pm, €28

19 After the ponderousness of The Fountain, Darren Aronofsky looks to be back on form with The Wrestler, which opened this weekend. The Irish Film Institute

20 Eclectica Apopalyptica, a collection of new paintings by Michael Stafford are on display in Dun drum until 19 February. The Mill Theatre

21 It may be January, but here’s hoping New Kids on the Block will knock out a rendition of “Funky Christmas.” The O2, 8 pm, €60

22 Today’s your last chance to see the exhibition of photography by Czechoslovakian Miroslav Tichý. The Douglas Hyde Gallery

23 For lo-fi kicks, the really rather good Elsworth Cambs are on tonight with support from The Holy Roman Army and The 202s. Upstairs at Whelans, 8 pm, €8

24 David Fincher’s latest effort, The Curious Case of Benjamn Button came out yesterday and looks rather, well, curious indeed. Cinemas nationwide

25 The Streets come/ comes/whatever to town this evening. The Olympia, 7.30 pm, €33

26 Gus Van Sant’s much anticipated Milk came to the IFI over the weekend and is playing until 31 January. Irish Film Institute

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For all Trinity students with your Trinity Student Card

Crown Alley, T emple Bar (open till 11pm) Valid until 23rd Feb - Mon to Fri only . Cannot be used in conjunction with any other offer 13 January – 26 January, 2009

tn2

Contents Bats will destroy you

Things just took a turn for the ironic

Is the Turner Prize worthy of your attention?

The Playboy returns to the Abbey

Dublin theatre’s old reliables

A post-Chrimbo consideration of the festive film

Jesse Malin talks to Aisling Deng

Fur in fashion

Daphne Guinness comes to Dublin

Tattoo you

In need of self-help?

A chat with Deirdre Madden

Cake, cake, glorious cake

Issue

Ah jaysus. You get comfortable sleeping in until 4 o’clock every afternoon, swanning around the house in your jim-jams and having a constant supply of Roses at hand while you watch re-runs of Top Gear to your heart’s content. Then January rolls around, the turkey sambos dry up and you’re hit once more by the cold, harsh, reality of essay deadlines and the crapness of being a poverty-ravaged student. Well, get over it, you lazy shit (and stop moaning about the recession). Remember, every cloud has a silver lining. Yes, that’s right, the return to college means that tn2 is back for Hilary term (hooray!) and what an exciting and scandalous issue we have for you. Interviews include noise-mentalists Bats, punk-turned-acoustic-strummer-chap Jesse Malin and best-selling author Deirdre Madden. Food and Drink got their cake on to recommend some of the nicest bakery/cafés in town. Fashion considered the use of fur in fashion. Film had a bit of a debate about the merits of Christmas films, having sat around watching them for the last month or so. Books, quite impressively got through six of the most popular selfhelp books available and became better-functioning, self-actualised individuals as a result. Theatre went to see The Playboy of the Western World (you, too, can get in on the free tickets buzz by looking below). Finally, Art had a look at Russian artists Vitaly Komar and Alex Melamid, and took a stand for the Turner Prize. In addition to that stimulating injection of culture and banterousness, we bring you cheap food in the form of that Half Moon ad on the oppostite page. Brilliant stuff altogether. Yours enthusiastically,

Hugh Editor tn2@trinitynews.ie

Win tickets to La Dispute at The Peacock Theatre tn2 has three pairs of tickets to give away to the 30 January performance Photo: Rachel Kennedy

Reviews

tn2

13 January – 26 January, 2009

To enter, simply e-mail tn2@trinitynews with your name and contact details 3

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Highly evolved Having secured support slots for the likes of Liars, Gang Gang Dance and The Locust, Dublin-based noise-rockers Bats are very much on the ascent – Keith Grehan has a word with vocalist/guitarist Rupert Morris

t first listen its hard to know what to make of Bats. Even after multiple listens, it’s impossible, and foolhardy, to pigeonhole them into a particular genre. I caught up with Rupert Morris, songwriter, vocalist and guitarist from the band to find out more about this intriguing of post-punk, metal and prog. First and foremost, though, where did the band name come from? “Well it was just a word I thought was cool, at the start the rest of the band weren’t that keen on it but eventually they just kind of gave in. We’re really interested in science, it’s a shared passion, and bats are really the perfect example of evolution, perfectly suited to their environment. Also, like us, they live their lives sonically,” he explains with a grin. On the topic of evolution, I ask about the reference to infamous creationist Kent Hovind in EP track “Death to Kent Hovind.” “Well, I just hate him really,” Morris says. “He’s clearly an idiot, really a negative force in the world. I first heard of him when one of his supporters handed out a propaganda DVD to a friend of mine on the street a few years back, I looked into it and it really annoyed me how he was just making a mockery of human progress and science, he’s just unwilling to accept that evolution gives us something that his personal beliefs can’t account for, so he’s attempting to destroy years of progress while touring around America collecting huge sums of money from his supporters. So yeah, the song is really just a big “fuck you” to Kent Hovind!” The band have been doing the rounds for around two years now, so I enquire as to how it all came about. “Well, Conor, Timmy and Noel all knew each other from when they were kids, Craig is from Kildare and we’d been mates for a while. I met Conor through college and he asked me to jam and the band kind of went from there, up ‘til then I had no experience in bands, I’d just done a bit of home recording in my bedroom and songwriting and whatnot, the other guys had been in a band called Martha Washington beforehand. So it was in February 2007 that we had our fist gig and it all went from there really.” In the two years or so that Bats have been on the Dublin music circuit, and certainly since the release of their debut EP Cruel Sea Scientist, they’ve been creating quite a stir on the scene. “Yeah, we’re definitely getting a great response, especially since the release – it’s an amazing feeling when you can hear the crowd singing along with you.” tn2

13 January – 26 January, 2009

I ask him about the EP sessions. “It was an amazing experience, we recorded it over two days at Conor’s house during autumn 2007, it was recorded and mixed by Vinnie from Adebisi Shank and Micheal Roe. Fergal Davis from Suite Studios mastered it, it was great getting to learn about music production from these guys and I think we really took a lot from it as a band. It was really a great moment when we got our first delivery of EPs.” I decide to find out more about what drives and influences the band’s sound. “Well, its really an overlap of many different genres, all of the guys in the band bring something different to the mix, the term I use to define it is progressive-post punk-disco-metal – it’s a bit of a mouthful so we try and say it quickly. We all have quite different tastes in music but I’d say the general consensus would be towards post punk and electronica, particularly Aphex Twin, Blood Brothers, that kind of stuff.” And it’s not just music that get’s them feeling creative. “Apart from other bands, science in general is a big interest. And the

people who’ve been there since day one and supported us the whole way from the beginning. The atmosphere was just amazing. Friends of ours, Crayonsmith and Whacking Off the Cat for Secrets, played too so it was just a great day of brilliant music.” They’ve certainly played a lot of gigs in the last few years; I ask about their first. “That was in the Hub in February 2007 with Your Arch Enemy; it was a great gig and we got a good response from the audience, so we couldn’t have asked for more really. The sound was really awful, though, so that kind of fucked it up a bit, but you get that sort of thing and you just have to deal with it.” What are the best venues to play, then, in Ireland? “Well, I love Crawdaddy; we’ve only played there once but it was amazing, it has a really great atmosphere and attracts a good crowd. Whelans is another great venue, like, it really is the cornerstone of the Dublin music scene and so many great bands have played there before. We recently played a gig in The Lower Deck in Portobello, the sound is pretty poor but the atmosphere and response we received more

The weirder the better is the mantra we follow. If you’re sick of hearing the same electro indie bullshit everyday, then create something different ladies.” Ah yes, always a big factor in any bands development. “Yeah that’s why we threw in the electronica edge and disco beats, give the ladies something to dance too.” Despite their best efforts, though, it would seem there is current dearth of groupies – shocking stuff. “Sadly we seem to be drawing more of a male audience,” Morris laments. Well, at least the crowds are in to it. “All of the fans are really committed and really do know the music and the band – it’s a good way to be,” Morris informs me. Moving on, I ask about the career highlights so far. “Well, having the EP finally released was definitely one. To finally have our songs recorded and in the shops was really a great moment, like the culmination of our work and the proof that we were making progress and getting somewhere. Another highlight for completely different reasons was playing at Conor’s birthday last year. It was just a couple of friends over at his house and we only played a couple of tunes but it was amazing to just be able to perform the songs we love in front of our friends and the

than made up for it.” And the worst venues? “We hate playing in Eamonn Dorans as the sound is awful and the gigs there are generally quite badly organised; it’s like playing in a basement. The worst gig we ever played had to be in the Quad bar in Cork, though. The management of the venue were just complete assholes and the layout and sound were awful; I cant think of a worse place to try to hold a gig. Really, though, once the crowd are up for it and theres a good atmosphere the quality of the venue cant detract too much from that.” This being a student paper, I turn the conversation to the jungle that is the Dublin music scene and ask whether Morris has any advice for young bands or people in college trying to break in. “Overall, there’s a good band circuit in Dublin. I think the main thing really is just to be true to yourselves and not try and alter your music or image just to fit a trend or follow the crowd. The weirder the better is the mantra we follow. Like, if you’re sick of hearing the same electro indie bullshit everyday, then cre-

ate something different, this business is all about innovation. You should embrace a wide range of influences, variety is always a good thing. Also, everybody in the band should have their views aired and not be in a situation where one person is kind of dictating everything that happens.” And what about promoting yourself? “With us it’s really all about the internet – way forward, you know. Like, myspace is really invaluable when it comes to promotion. Also, it gives you a platform where people can hear your music and see what you’re about as a band. Word of mouth should never be underestimated: play as many gigs as possible and really try and get your name out there. When it comes to actually getting gigs, persistence is key, just hound the management of clubs and the like, make them remember your face. Also, network, make friends with as many bands as possible, accept and offer support slots and that. Most people in the Dublin scene are very well connected so its all about breaking into that circle.” Speaking of the scene, I ask Morris, which bands he admires the most. “Well, we’re all big friends of Adebisi Shank, they’re a band we really admire, and we supported a band from Belfast called Not Squares who we really found we had a lot in common with, musically. We mainly just spend all of our spare time going to gigs in Whelans and the like, it’s great getting to see new bands breaking and that.” With one EP put, it would seem that an album is the next logical step. Morris tells me more about their plans for that. “We’re flying out to Salem in Massachusetts on 24 February; we have it all written so just waiting to record now, really. We’ve ten days in the studio and Kris Ballou is producing. It should be released in June or July if all goes according to plan and it’ll be on nationwide release and also distributed throughout Europe.” At this point, Morris seems anxious to get back to rehearsal, so I decide to wrap things up. Bats are without a doubt one of the most exciting bands in our fair city at the moment and a group very much worth keeping an eye on over the next few months. If you want to find out more about the band, have a look at www.batstheband.com. Debut EP Cruel Sea Scientist can be purchased online or in Tower Records, City Disks and Road Records. Bats play a free instore gig on 9 February in Tower Records at 3 pm.

d n i h e b m o r F

n i a t r u c c i n o r i e h t

Janet Coen takes a retrospective look at the collaborative work of Russian artists Vitaly Komar and Alex Melamid

he New Year is a junction in time between the past and the future: the world turns, the page turns there has been a revolution in the original sense; we have just traveled once around the sun. Revolutions, however, are also connotative of change. The old process continues but it is in a new and different phase… Looking back on the work of Vitaly Komar and Alex Melamid this new year, there is not much to learn about the rotation of the earth. But there is an insight to be gained into the questions it inspires. Their work together from 1967 to 2004 is underscored by a desire to play with history and to challenge the images and ideas of those who make it. Their art often brings about a mergence of past and present, of fact and fiction. It looks at the possibility of choice and of freedom and in doing so, it reveals much about us as political agents in the world. Komar and Melamid’s iconoclastic approach is the result of their upbringing in post-war Moscow. As young graduates they were expected to produce works which would depict and glorify the proletariat’s struggle toward socialist progress. They opted instead to join the dissident underground. In 1974, they were involved in the famous

Balyayevo open air exhibition, which was destroyed by government bulldozers and which ultimately saw their expulsion from the Artists Union for their “distortion of Soviet reality.” No longer able to work in the Soviet Union, they emigrated to the USA via Israel in 1978. Throughout the 1970s, they worked in a style they termed post-art, which made use of multi-stylistic and multimedia images. This included Super Objects - Super Comfort for Super People; a series of thirty six colour photographs which satirise the western marketplace. The subjects of these pictures are absurd devices, invented by the artists after they saw a department store catalogue. The project encapsulates the consumerist dream of realising one’s singular self through the purchase of objects available to everyone. Its wry glance at commodification was carried through to the establishment of Komar and Melamid Inc. a company for the “buying and selling of human souls.” It was accompanied by an advertising campaign, including print ads and a video display in Times Square. Several hundred American

souls were purchased and resold in Moscow, including the soul of Andy Warhol, which was snapped up for a mere thirty roubles. Komar and Melamid are pioneers of SOTS Art, a version of pop and conceptual art, which blends a Dadaist approach with the aesthetics of Socialist realism. It takes the style of socialist realism as an object of investigation, seeking to deconstruct the system of ideas through its own visual language. In their Nostalgic Socialist Realism series of 1981-82, they mock the pretensions of official Soviet art, debunking the ideolo-

The artists’ work was slashed in Brooklyn by an exTrotskyite DJ gies such works were intended to promote. Many common themes are to be found in this series, such as portraitures of Stalin and of other leaders, a lack of light, children or childlike behaviour and fear. They capture many important characteristics of the life and mentality in Russia in the post-war era. During this period, the artists’ Portrait of Hitler was slashed in Brooklyn by an exTrotskyite disc jockey. They refused to restore it, choosing instead to acknowledgethe vandal as co-author. Their interest in the subversion of emblems, icons and other images is also seen in their final collaborative exhibition, the Symbols of the Big Bang series of 2001-2002. It is composed of some sixty four drawings, collages and paintings which bring together both good and evil elements. It incorporates such disparate symbols as yin-yang, mandala and the serpent Ouroboros. The

most arresting image is a hybrid of a swastika inside the star of David. Komar and Melamid’s stated intention for this project is to “effect a reconciliation of radical opposites” and to “dissolve the very fixity of these symbols.” They have come under fire for this, with some people interpreting the image as equating the Jewish state with Nazism. To others, it is seen as the ironic deconstruction of the very nature of symbols and of their role in the modern world. Leaving aside any motivations behind the image, however, it does raise some interesting questions about the relationship between artist, work and viewing public. One wonders, firstly, if the artists really have gone “too far” in creating such a loaded symbol. But how could new art ever be created if we respected all taboos? And Komar and Melamid are themselves Jewish. There is a school of thought which would vindicate their actions in light of this fact, as though their stake in that heritage gives them a dispensational permission to burlesque it. Questions of authorship are also raised in their influential project; the People’s Choice, in which members of the public were polled worldwide to discover the most generally favoured images. The artists then painted the results, which illustrated, rather drably, that a majority of people favour landscapes involving the colour blue. Having emerged from Soviet Russia, is hardly surprising that Komar and Melamid have constantly engaged with the notion of freedom of choice. In the People’s Choice of safe homogeneity and fear of difference, they saw a kind of ‘slavery’. Unless people make bold statements, we will never be challenged to ask why. And unless we continue to ask questions, nothing will ever change. The world needs artists like Vitaly Komar and Alex Melamid.

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Overthought, overtalked? The Turner Prize is always a source of controversy, but the public and the media should lay off a bit, says Caroline O’Leary

ike the Mercury in music and the Booker in literature, the annual announcement of the Turner Prize winner attracts attention not only from those in the know but from the public at large. The £25,000 prize is awarded each year to a British artist under the age of 50, and the December announcement is often preceded by a mixture of excitement, trepidation and dread from both artists and critics as they attempt to predict not only the winner but equally the controversy that will be incited by it. Though not strictly a conceptual art prize, a vast majority of the past winners have been singled out for highly original, yet sometimes artistically questionable, conceptual works such as Damien Hirst’s “Mother and Child, Divided”, consisting of dissected cow parts suspended in formaldehyde, and Simon Starling’s “Shedboatshed” where the artist built a boat from the timber of a shed, sailed it down the Rhine river and then reconstructed it as a shed in Switzerland. These and many other winners such as Martin Creed and the Chapman Brothers have contributed to the Turner’s now notorious reputation and caused the prize to become one of the most publicised and recognisable art prizes in the world. However, at the announcement of this year’s Prize on 1 December, things were a little different. The nominee’s exhibition was opened on 30 September at London’s Tate Britain, and in the following 3 months attracted over 60,000 visitors clambering to see the works of filmmaker Runa Islam, modern sculptor Goshka Macuga, installation artist Cathy Wilkes and filmmaker and designer Mark Leckey. If these viewers’s interest was motivated

by a desire to see firsthand an example of the Turner’s often famously outrageous works, they were sorely disappointed. Critics such as Jonathan Jones of The Guardian and Rachel Campbell-Johnson of The Times described the exhibitions as “overthought, overtalked, pseudo-intellectual culture” and “turn up, tune in and drop off ”. General consensus among the critics was that the nominations were too safe, too academic and just plain boring. No one was incited into throwing eggs in protest, such as with Martin Creed’s 2001 winning installation, and no men jumped on to exhibition pieces naked for a pillow fight, such as with Tracy Emin’s 1999 surprise entry. Many lamented what was perceived to be the simply standard fare they were presented with and it seemed that everyone from the public to the media were appalled by the lack of excitement and “freakshow” entertainment. Yet does art now have to be controversial and vaguely bizarre to be recognized and admired? The Turner has always come under scrutiny for what many consider it’s “questionable” approach to art, most famously in 2002 by British culture minister Kim Howells who described the Prize as “cold, mechanical, conceptual bullshit” and was later publicly backed by Prince Charles. Every year the Stuckist movement, who seek to promote figurative painting over conceptual art, protest against the Prize and distribute anti-conceptual information while often dressed in costume. The only exception to this was in 2007, where the organisers decreed they would not protest due to “the lameness of this year’s show, which does not merit

the accolade of the traditional demo”. This year’s ultimate winner Mark Leckey expressed his shock at the backlash against the entire exhibition during his first interview after the award ceremony. The 44-yearold artist, who also works as a part-time film professor, explained to The Guardian journalist Jonathon Jones that he was shocked at “how much obloquy and hatred the prize generates.” Leckey exhibited several film based works including Felix gets Broadcasted, Made in ‘Eaven and Industrial Light & Magic, the piece that earned him his newest accolade. Though proud of his work, Leckey was particularly affected by the condemnation heaped on him during the exhibition’s run, commenting “I want to make work that has some kind of effect and, basically, this show was called effectless. And I just don’t get that. I thought I was making contemporary British culture, and then you put it out there… and you pop your head up from the parapet and everybody slates you.” Such was the effect of the criticism that Leckey is now reluctant to leave himself or anyone in the art world exposed to the possibility of such criticism again. “I’m reticent about the idea of art opening up to anyone anymore. I prefer art when it’s a private, slightly more occultist, practice.” Certainly to the outside observer, the Turner Prize is less intriguing and entertaining when not steeped in controversy and scandal. Yet is it fair for viewers to vent their disappointment by essentially condemning an artist for not adhering to public expec-

tations? Unlike many art prizes that take into consideration an artist’s entire body of work, the Turner Prize is focused on an individual, specific exhibition that the jury feels has excelled in the previous year. It seems that the critics and the public alike need to be reminded that this is the true aim of the award and that there is no artistic merit whatsoever in simply choosing artists that will cause the most outrage, even if it is less of a publicity draw. Considering the relatively small size of the British art scene it would be impossible to conjure up a particularly scandalous nominee each year, so why attack artists for not only not doing what the public expect, but simply for being true to themselves and their art? Thankfully, despite the considerable criticism, Leckey has now expressed his desire to continue making film and to follow his win by creating a television variety show, inspired somewhat by the Two Ronnies and focusing on “art and ways of seeing.” Though extremely pleased about the win, he seems to have realized that the Turner Prize is not the “be all and end all” of British art, and hopes that the public will realize that too. “When you read about the Turner Prize in the press, and about the art world in general, you get the wonky idea that it’s all about Tracey Emin, Damien Hirst, Banksy. I get riled by Damien Hirst’s skull and by Banksy. It just irks me. The work is trite. And then it comes to represent culture and art, it becomes totemic. And I don’t understand that.”

Damien Hirst’s Mother and Child, Divided

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13 January – 26 January, 2009

Photo: Ross Kavanagh

A tour de farce Bisi Adigun and Roddy Doyle’s adaptation of The Playboy of the Western World has returned to the Abbey – Hussein Sarhan takes a look

he novelist Joseph O’Connor tries to convince that this modern Playboy should speak seriously to our now “downturning society.” Thankfully, this sobriety is only half true, because humour is really only incidentally ethical, usually more concerned with laughs than values (after all, how earnest can talk of “the aul’ AIDS” finally be?) But less understandable than a critic trying to show how serious a comedy is, is a comedy that wants to show how serious it is to begin with. It is a good thing, then, that both Bisi Adigun and Roddy Doyle, the play’s adaptors, have managed to keep this comedy comic, or one might say, irresponsible. In the original text, Playboy tells the tale (it is that sort of play) of a young man who kills his father – twice. That much is preserved, but for its centenary production at the Abbey in 2007, Doyle and Adigun were commissioned to “jig things up” a bit, so they supplied a modern twist. Seeing as it proved a big success, the Abbey has restaged the show.

Christy Mahon (now Malomo, played by Chuck Iwuji), after a bungled attempt at bludgeoning his old man, Old Mahon (George Seremba), flees home (“a distant place... a windy corner of high, distant hills” i.e. Nigeria), and eventually seeks refuge in a faraway shebeen (dodgy pub). He soon falls for Pegeen Mike (Ruth Bradley), daughter of the publican Michael James (Liam Carney), but things get complicated when Old Mahon returns to exact justice, and especially as he encounters a son very different from the one he once knew. Meanwhile, Séan Keogh, the (now, however, fairly anachronistic) “Christian man”, bids ineffectually for Pegeen’s love, and the three (dis)graces, Honor, Susan, and Sarah, occasionally sweep the stage, agog. The setting is now Dublin; the unspecific, though reasonably authentic, working-class Dublin that is Doyle’s: think something out of Fair City. These are times of gun crime, hard drugs, and what is known in the papers as “gangland violence,” not to mention immigration. Christopher Malomo (still,

humorously, Christy) and père are true outlanders – “Africans”. But these are more than just changes in local colour; they add new comic potential. It is not that the play is improved by virtue of being brought, as the Abbey itself describes it, “bang up-to-date,” it just shifts in emphasis. Even the title incurs a new global significance. Take the opening scene: instantly, Christopher is marked as an outsider, but as much by his choice of drink (the content of his character), as the colour of his skin: a small (wait for it) bottle of Guinness. In sturdy realism, they don’t stock bottles, so he makes do with a half-pint. Humour like this is present throughout, and in the small details of language. Instead of miles, Christy speaks of kilometres: the four syllables oddly misemphasised. Once he innocently requests cubes of sugar, not spoonfuls, in his tea. Synge himself immensely admired the Irish language, or the way the Irish spoke English, but distrusted “the modern literature of towns”. He wrote that “in countries where the imagination of the people, and the language they use, is rich and living, it is possible for a writer to be rich and copious in his words, and at the same time to give the reality, which is the root of all poetry.” Respectful to the root of all poetry, Doyle and Adigun cannot indulge all the rhetorical excesses of the original; the abundance of “slit

the windpipe of a screeching sow” is gone, or not in Dublin. Would Synge have liked the remainder? Perhaps not. These Dubliners, like real people, rarely speak precociously, and while they get a few laughs for their crudity, there isn’t much poetry going on. Christopher hilariously rebukes them for being deaf to the Keats and Wordsworth he has been tossing out all night (you can always rely on a murderer for a fancy prose style.) More than an adaptation, this was a rewriting, but it could never have been any other way, because in Synge’s original there is no distinction between the play’s language, and its location. (Henry James said he never understood the separation of plot and character.) Each generates the next. The new setting was also a new idiom. Nothing of this is much of a problem, but sometimes the losses are clear: there is a particular volley of “fuck-offs” towards the end of the first act that was never going to be interesting; laughing was the polite thing to do. The modern Dublinese does yield a few trouvailles, but it is the Malomos that are most exciting to hear. They have something of “richness” yet. All said, it is a good farce, and still a worthwhile ticket for the curious. The Playboy of the Western World runs at the Abbey Theatre until 31 January. 13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Theatre in the city

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13 January – 26 January, 2009

Kathy Clarke and Frances Beatty assess the old reliables of Dublin’s theatre spaces The Project Arts Centre The Project Arts Centre is perhaps the most innovative and dynamic of Dublin’s theatres. Price-wise it is also the most student-friendly, with many of the exhibitions in the gallery space being free of charge. The Project’s programme includes all contemporary art forms: theatre, dance, live art, video and film, jazz, electronic, classical and popular music. I shall stop before I start to forget that this is the theatre page but the list goes on. The Project actively seeks to support emerging artists, as well as those that are already established and the theatre excels at staging everything from classics of world theatre – such as Frank McGuinness’ version of Strinberg’s Miss Julie (January– March 2008) – to youth theatre events such as September 2008’s production of Philip

Ridley’s contemporary play Fairytaleheart. The theatre originally started as a threeweek festival at the Gate Theatre in November 1966. The initial idea was to produce a single play but this quickly evolved into a season of cultural events. A permanent centre was finally established on Lower Abbey Street in 1967. The Project was to move a further six times until it came to its current location in Temple Bar in 2000. Throughout the course of its history, the Project has hosted some renowned companies and actors. The venue at East Sussex Street was where Gabriel Byrne and Liam Neeson developed their skills. In the 1980s Rough Magic became Project’s flagship theatre company. Although it closes long before its neighbours, there is also a very cosy bar upstairs – complete with fairy lights for anyone missing that Christmassy feeling.

The Abbey The Abbey – it’s the posh one. If you were going to take your granny to a show, it would be at here (unless she’s one of those grannies, like mine, that shouts at the actors). More importantly however, The Abbey is our national theatre, representing us as a nation on stage – though that has always been debatable. When Ireland was still in a bit of a colonial “tug-of-war” with Britain, people looked to the national theatre to create an image of a new independent Irish nation and to represent the Irish people in a positive light. The stage was used as a place to contest issues of political and economic power, as iconic playwrights like WB Yeats, Lady Augusta Gregory, JM Synge and Sean O’Casey strove to create images of “Irish-ness” that would be effective in asserting Ireland’s cultural

identity. The first state–subsidised theatre in the English speaking world, The Abbey remains true to its heritage, regularly re-animating plays from the Irish repertoire, as well as presenting diverse, engaging and innovative Irish and international theatre. Recent productions include Brecht’s brilliant The Resitistable Rise of Arturo Ui as well as Roddy Doyle and Bisi Adigun’s adaptation of Synge’s The Playboy of the Western World. While currently located on Lower Abbey Street, just yards from the Liffey, the government announced in 2006 that an international design competition would be held to create a new home for the Abbey, to be located on George’s Dock in Dublin. In October 2007, the jury for the competition was announced. It is anticipated that the theatre will have moved to its new home by 2012.

The Gate It takes a lot of courage to admit this, but before visiting The Gate I never quite understood what need it was supposed to provide for. It seemed to me to be just like The Abbey, only a longer walk from Trinity – and what could be good about that? Since then, Trinity has, needless to say, made me a more cultured and well-rounded person and The Gate will always hold a special place in my heart for being the first theatre in which I actually enjoyed a musical. Said production was Sweeney Todd, which went on to win an Irish Times Irish Theatre Award 2007 for best opera production. The Gate was established in 1928 by Hilton Edwards and Micheál MacLiammóir, although the building itself is over 200 years old. Throughout its history, the theatre has boasted a broad repertoire. Initially, its fo-

cus was on giving Irish audiences a taster of European and American avant-garde theatre as well as staging classic and modern Irish plays. Today, the theatre still seeks to provide an inclusive programme, with something for everyone. I have never been disappointed by a performance at The Gate. Most recently, I saw the stunning production of Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, translated by Brian Friel. Sensibility to the realist style of the play was breathtaking – the set was complete with log burner and full-sized conservatory. Such set designs are all the more impressive at The Gate as each set has to be cut up on delivery and reassembled on stage due to the logistical difficulties of it not being a custom built theatre. Work has begun on a new wing which will provide a much needed workshop, rehearsal room and theatre archive.

Christmas crackers? With the holiday season finally at an end, Michael Armstrong and Egle Zinkuté weigh up the pros and cons of Christmas films ‘Tis the season

icture the scene: you’ve eaten a sickening amount of mince pies, had a little too much to drink over lunch and your blood type is gravy for the foreseeable future. Sound familiar? If, like many, you found yourself sofa-bound on Christmas Day, like some sort of overfed, beached whale, some relief and entertainment could be found in the vast backlog of Christmas movies that filled television schedules in December. While some Christmas films never go beyond the level of distraction during digestion, others have become entrenched in our culture to the extent that they have become part of our idea of Christmas. I’m not suggesting that films such as Fred Claus or Four Christmases are anything other than over-sentimental garbage (Vince Vaughn really shouldn’t be allowed to make movies), but where would we be without seasonal touchstones like It’s A Wonderful Life or The Snowman? These films help reinforce the good aspects of the Christmas tradition without

mentioning the bad. There was no crass commercialisation in Jimmy Stewart’s aforementioned tale of redemption, while Dianne Jackson’s 1982 adaptation of the classic Raymond Brigg’s illustrated story has lost none of its beauty and pathos, precisely because it kept its message simple: that for children, and those who can remember being children, Christmas is a magical time of year.

ally experience Christmas as a society (not to mention as individuals). In a secular pluralistic society, the Christian festival is not for all, and how it’s celebrated differs from house to house, where there are also Muslim, Hindu or Buddhist neighbours who do not at all. This would appear to merely say that Christmas is itself irrelevant, or problematic, but that does not follow. For in the

are diluted variations on the subject, and that‘s exactly how they feel after viewing. Secondly, our more urgent reality, which is in flux in all realms does not become inert under this universal superabundant Christmas celebration. Yet these films rarely reflect this. Furthermore, these films often engage in covert politics while appearing to be apolitical. It’s a Wonderful Life does this openly, while, more recently, Four Christmases took the only other option: creating a comic diversion from most courses of action that would appeal if we are to celebrate as agents, not “impotents.” Finally, “bi-polarity” refers to the uncomfortable battle in attitude betweem the “it’s all just innocent fun” and “it’s not worth it” camps. At the end of the cul-de-sac of Christmas movies is a clearly perceptible danger of irresolute self-loathing. One may have been better off watching the real world on Christmas day, as for me, that alone had a true magic to it.

the holiday season has provided rich source material for more innovative filmmakers to subvert. Four years before Halloween gave the slasher genre a seasonal spin, Black Christmas traded yuletide cheer for outright terror, and has since become a cult classic. While the film was a commercial failure and spawned a terrible 2006 remake, it demonstrated how the cultural myths of Christmas could be twisted to create a new sub-genre of anti-Christmas movies, leading to films such as Bad Santa and Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. So if you found yourself stuck in front of an irritating and schmaltzy Christmas film last month, spare a thought for the classic films that have used the festive season to great effect. Die Hard wouldn’t be Die Hard without “Let It Snow” playing over the closing credits, and for this, and countless other examples, I’ll forgive the hundreds of terrible Christmas-themed travesties for every one film that gives us a new take on the clichéd format. As Tiny Tim himself said, “Yippee-ki-yay, every one.”

The holiday season has provided rich source material for more innovative filmmakers to subvert The importance of cinema to our conception of Christmas can also be shown by how films with no obvious ties to the holiday have become part of traditional seasonal viewing. The Great Escape and The Wizard of Oz are shown at some point every Christmas, while the annual winter release of the Lord of the Rings trilogy helped make the films part of the festive calendar. Even if you don’t celebrate Christmas,

Bah, humbug!

here is something painful about having to consider Christmas movies. The “physiology” of such pains can be specified as three distinct, yet often simultaneously plaguing “ailments” of sorts. First, there is the all-over “itch” that seems to overwhelm every winter season, with Christmas movies bursting on to television and cinema screens. Second, there is the related, yet more acute “impotence” of mass subjugation under the phenomenon, when everybody, reminiscing about their fleeting nostalgic “feelgood” elements, makes yet another annual cul-de-sac pilgrimage to the Christmas movies. Third, and surely the most ruinous, is the resultant “bi-polar” mindset that reels one into an inevitable state of (self–) loathing. Within the all-pervading presence of Christmas movies, there is a notable tension, and today perhaps the greatest ever, between the offerings of both the “classic” and the quite recent films, and how we actu-

Furthermore, these films often engage in covert politics while appearing to be apolitical

real world, traditions adapt, diversify and co-mingle, aided notably by the neutralizing funfair of global capitalism. The difference with the movies is that they are always able to exclude the diversity and heterogeneity of our real life. Moreover, the non-negotiable place of Christmas movies in our culture produces a kind of impotence in two senses. In one way, the momentary kindling of good emotions

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Old romantic Jesse Malin’s musical career has taken all sorts of turns down through the years – he discusses what it means to be an artist with Aisling Deng tn2

13 January – 26 January, 2009

ialling the digits diligently, my heart can’t help but skip a beat. As I wait on the line, pulsating nervousness is as a ticking time bomb with each ring sounding a reminder. This is Jesse Malin, the legendary punk rocker and he’s on the other side of the line. He doesn’t merely claim acquaintance with the old school glitterati of punk and rock – Joe Strummer was “like a teacher” to him, Ryan Adams is not only his producer, but his band mate and friend; he’s also fast becoming Bruce Springsteen’s protégé. It’s hard to believe he’s been around for nearly thirty years now. Starting his illustriously tattooed career in hardcore punk band Heart Attack when he was but 12 years old, it has since been littered with a glorious blaze of bands: Hope, D Generation, PCP Highway, Bellvue and The Finger. A swift, confident American drawl perks out a “Hello,” then nothing. The air is cut up by null tonesthe line’s dead. I start again, dialling. Malin the newly–turned folk rock crooner apologises profusely; he’s on the road. Juggling two tours simultaneously, both supporting Gogol Bordello and his own headline show is quite a feat, even for someone who’s been on the road for two years. When I catch up with him, he’s on his way through the U.K, jestingly laughing at the pronunciation of place names such as Leicester. “Have you ever heard of the writer Lester Bangs?!” he remarks. Put at ease, I ask him how the tours are going so far. “It’s been good, I’ve been out touring with Butch Taylor in the U.S, and over here we went to Russia and Germany with Gogol Bordello. It’s great going out with them. You play your set faster when you’re playing with a Russian gypsy punk band.” Malin, more punk-based, synergises electrically live with Gogol Bordello who hail from nomadic licks of Russia. Like an epic sprawling feast of folk and acoustic music they spark off each other at gigs – certainly a sight to behold. I wonder how he finds being the opening act, though. “When I’m playing with them, I’m an opener, a contender. I’m just working shit out. You gotta find ways of winning an audience over. When I’m playing my own gig in Brighton, where it’s my own show, it’s just like you know people there. It’s good to do both. I spent a year supporting as well as being a contender. I’m happy to fight the battles to make it work.” The fact that he has to go out every night to an unfamiliar crowd like a young fighting underdog with the need to prove himself, must be exhilaratingly exciting and satisfying. “Well yeah, it’s fun sometimes when they don’t have you advertised and people are drunk and ready to go nuts. Gogol’s show is this festive, wild, kooky thing, you know, and I come out here and I have kinda serious songs. But they’re great fans and Eugene from Gogol’s very supportive and cool; we’ve wanted to do this for a while and it worked out, it really did.” Having travelled this year cutting through his own turf of America, the altering altitudes of Russia, down to central Europe, passing through the U.K, then back to home again to New York via Ireland, he must find that with each tour, the more extensive they grow, atlas-like, that it infuses

his music and writing with the different atmospheric flavours. “Well, I wrote my first record [The Fine Art of Destruction] in my bedroom in New York, really isolated. I didn’t know what was going to happen and then you get to a place where, with the second record [The Heat], I was away from home a lot. And I realised how small this earth was and how connected we all are. And this is, in hindsight, of all the Bush administration stuff. I realised from travelling, how much American politics affects the rest of the world. New Yorkers are always talking about what “American” is and “what it means to be American” as if they’re pulling the word from another reality outside of New York City. But over the years, globalisation, developers and chain stores have made the whole world very similar with Starbucks through to Subway... all these kind of multinational corporations. “I came over and I wrote my second record looking back at my family and friends in America and the culture but from a distance, from places like Australia and the United Kingdom and Finland. The Heat had a big globe on the back of the record which represented more of a connected thing, how much I got to see how small the world was and how similar we all are in our different cultures as human beings.” Speaking of his homeland, resonances of the bashed out election still echo. Much of Malin’s work, refreshingly, is politically based. Right now, it feels as though, from the outside looking in that America, Malin is liberated somewhat, there’s a gravitational shift towards the left, sliding Bush and his demons into the shadowy background of the past. Though now, even Obama seems to be showing signs of appeasement by moving more towards the centre of the party as he approaches his term in office and demons always hunt and haunt. “Well, with politicians, it’s like that Who song that goes ‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss,’ y’know? But I think it’s definitely an improvement. God, if it had been McCain, it’d be really frightening. We have a lot of hope with Obama, he definitely makes us feel less embarrassed to the whole world.” It feels like society’s actually finally getting somewhere. Malin seems to think so too. “I hope so. It was a great night when the election results were announced. It’s one of the best things history has experienced in a long time. People just felt a sense of liberation. We felt duped that the last election was stolen and the time before, Bush should have really been impeached. There were lies and all kinds of ignorance and bullshit fascism and now with Obama we’re hoping that he’ll step up to the plate and kick some ass, relieve us of depression financially, cutting away from the greed and the excess of some people who went too far.” I ask Malin if he thinks that the music scene will see a big shift in terms of song writing, towards a different mood. “I think when there are tough times, it gives us something to rally against, and creates great art but the human condition isn’t becoming so utopian as fast. There’s still gonna be a lot of dysfunction to sing about and liberate oneself from. The frustration of that will always exist. Human beings are flawed but

I believe there are only two kinds of music in the world: good and bad. There’s good punk, bad punk, fucking good blues, bad blues, good jazz... it just goes like that

with beauty in it. It’s something that drives improvement, there’s always gonna be that element of being able to sing songs about hard times and make yourself feel better. I’m a big fan of happy songs with sad lyrics, or sad songs that have happy lyrics, mixing the two with melody and seeing how that plays upon you. The world’s not going to turn into a peaceful utopian miracle overnight so there’ll be plenty of material to rail and grab from.” And he’s true to his word. You can discern the underlying sadness and despair in much of his work, especially the heartbreakingly bare “Broken Radio,” a great comingtogether-and-connecting song on which he dueted with Bruce Springsteen. Malin tells me how it was to work with him and how he had inspired him. “Well, he’s a really wonderful, humble guy. I mean, I grew up listening to punk rock, my father listened to Springsteen. But then I got his record Nebraska and it showed

me that he was down to earth and real. You felt that he could really write about working men in the street, he comes from that place. This is the guy who, even with the Obama election, in Pennsylvania and Ohio, traditional Republican states, went out and sang for the people as a part of the campaign. He sincerely means well. He’s human, of course, but he sets an example of how you can be a ‘star’ and stay true to the street and the music. “For your role model to be so supportive of you and your music is really great. I’m a huge fan of his work. I believe in him as a writer and am inspired by how he deals with his fans, how he performs, how he takes the stage and carries himself whilst continuing to keep rock and roll real, vibrant, rebellious; a street type of form.” Malin, like Springsteen, has a highly distinctive voice, but his is more implacable. It seems to be a chest of amalgamating old and new sea-tossed sounds. Listening to his 13 January – 26 January, 2009

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songs is reminiscent of downing whiskey. Thoughts of warm, mellow, homely amber highlights flow over you, belying the real, hard core of the drink itself, which smacks you afterwards. And his songs, the cocktail of lyrics and vocals mixed, deliver that delayed hit. “It’s great to be compared to the elixir of doom. Well, I mean, I didn’t grow up listening and trying to sing like David Bowie or Pavarotti, I just work with what I have and I’m not exactly gonna be singing opera with Rufus Wainwright in a leotard. I definitely respect those people with that talent, for instance Sam Brook. He’s one of my favourite singers. He can put both happiness and sadness into the same envelope. I am to do the same.” Many singers coming from iconic bands – Corey Taylor, Paul Westenburg to name but a few – tend to strip music down to the bare minimum the moment they leave and go it alone. They stray so far that it often sends tn2

13 January – 26 January, 2009

shockwaves to the fans. Malin is no exception. “Well, when you start solo, you kind of have to step away from your fans and not give the same thing under a different name. It’s cool to have that freedom.” Last year saw the release of two albums, On Your Sleeve and an album of covers, Mercury Retrograde. When asked why he released a covers album Malin says he was getting sick of his own stuff; that it was a kind of holiday, a break from the old, so to speak. This just barely shows a glimpse of the tip of the iceberg that is his work ethic. “I wanted to go back to the initial passion that I had of releasing the records. I did three original ones, toured around for a while and always did covers at my gigs. I just joked to the fans that ‘oh, I’ll do a covers record’ and they kind of called me on it. They started sending me e-mails about it and finally I was like, ‘alright, I have ten days off, let’s go in with about 25 favourite songs.’ The whole experience was like making a mixed tape for

a friend or a lover.” It’s got everything from Elton John to a bit of Bad Brains to the Flaming Lips. It’s an impressive list of songs; I admit a lot of my childhood favourites are on there as are some current ones, which was a lovely surprise. “Y’know, I like good music. I can’t really say that so much about myself that I’m good, but I play from my heart. I believe there are only two kinds of music in the world; good and bad. There’s good punk, bad punk, fucking good blues, bad blues, good jazz... it just goes like that.” Malin’s artistic quest reminds me of a certain romantic poet. In the romantic period you had poets like Percy Shelley and Lord Byron, Keats and Wordsworth. They all came from industrialised cities such as London and wrote about the idealised countryside, rural life with all these happy shepherds etc. But the true romantic poet, John Clare, who actually hailed from the countryside, had a totally different view on

life there, he wrote of a grittier world, undercutting the flabby, inflated belly of the culture that was more commonly portrayed by the others at the time. It reminds me of Malin’s music. I wonder if he thinks that he’s romanticised the punk rock sound with his vocals? “Rock music is generally a romantic thing, Hearing the Clash, Bob Marley, Generation X, Rancid or someone sing about places and makes you go ‘I wanna feel that, I wanna see that.’ Those poets, Keats and Shelley, I think in some ways they stole the romance side of the beauty of nature even though there was a dark side; a tragic tough life. There’s a hard, heartbreak side, a tragic, romantic thing which goes hand in hand with a lot of true artists which I’m afraid I’d call myself.” There’s a romantic and rebel in all of us; Malin however, is living out those ideals. The punk rocker armed with his lyrics, tales and voice will go down trying to make his mark, regardless.

Fashion conscience With all the current controversy in the industry, Ana Kinsella wonders: can I really wear fur this season?

The Olsen twins are some of many celebrity proponents of fur in fashion

he fashion industry is constantly attracting controversy in various guises and seems to weather a number of different storms as the seasons go by. Yet the use of fur in fashion is an issue that crops up time and time again, with certain designers resolutely using it in both Fall and Spring collections year in and year out. Fur has been used in many forms by many societies over the centuries, but in the twenty-first century it has become a highly polarising issue, with opinions generally divided into two camps – the militants who see it as disgusting and completely unnecessary, and those who view its use as an acceptable and attractive sartorial option. Jean-Paul Gaultier, Jil Sander, Givenchy, Fendi, MaxMara, Gucci, Rick Owens, Roberto Cavalli, Michael Kors, Proenza Schouler - from the classic to the avant-garde, the minimalist to the feminine, a wide spectrum of designers remain resolute in their use of fur in their prêt-a-porter collections. Fur in fashion attracts the wrath of PETA protestors on and off the catwalks, yet its popularity rarely wanes, as designers persist in utilising it, and customers keep buying it. But high fashion’s use of fur represents something separate and disconnected from the everygirl’s wardrobe and, as such, it’s the way fur is used off the catwalk which is keeping it so popular. Over the last few years fur has experi-

enced something of a renaissance amongst hip young things. It is an important part of the free-spirited 1970s boho aesthetic, and this is a look favoured again and again by young Hollywood starlets like the Olsen twins, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie – a fur jacket is seen as a perfect complement to an otherwise casual outfit, and is seen time and time again in paparazzi shots of such celebrities. These are the same stars who sparked trends in aviators, leggings or Balenciaga bags, and they are increasingly embracing the controversy that wearing fur can bring. PETA has tried to combat this celebrityled trend in recent years by openly protesting at Fashion Weeks and publishing an annual “Worst Dressed List” in an attempt to name and shame these starlets. However, outside of this, PETA have made themselves no friends in the fashion world due to their paint-flinging hysterics and their general making-a-nuisance of themselves. Off the catwalks, fur is generally worn in one of two ways – the young Hollywood bohemian, or the glamourous Russian jet setter – dressed down with scraggly hair and torn jeans or opaque tights, scraggly hair, or else dressed up to the nines with showy gold jewellery, a Louis Vuitton bag and slick designer shades. Either way, fur says money and is a statement which indicates that you have either a healthy appreciation of it, or a

disregard for its more vulgar trappings. But regardless of how it’s worn, a full fur coat is a big and noticeable statement, and not necessarily for the shy and retiring, and so we see more and more fur trimmings on accessories, and in stoles and scarves, which presents a far more wearable option for an injection of prestige into an outfit. It’s difficult to integrate a fur jacket into a casual daytime look, firstly because of its high-glamour factor, which means it can be kind of like trying to wear Christian Louboutin stilettos with jeans and a hoodie. But fur also arouses more interest during the cold light of day than it does at night. Sometimes this will just be a simple inquisitive question as to whether or not it’s real, to, at the more extreme end of this spectrum of interest, inciting the same reaction as if you were to smoke next to a toddler. Fur is, in many situations, simply not politically correct and not acceptable, and those who disagree will generally have no problem in telling you so. Fashionistas like to try to laugh this off to a certain degree, notably with French Vogue doing an fur-based editorial in 2008 featuring model Raquel Zimmermann in a variety of luxurious-looking fur coats battering anti-fur protestors and giving one the middle finger. The shoot was styled by the magazine’s editor, Carine Roitfeld herself, and as such it’s a pretty serious statement of belief from one of fashion’s most important

women. Over the centuries, fur has taken many forms, and has mutated from a crucial means of keeping warm in harsh conditions to a sign of wealth and, nowadays, just another celebrity–centred boho accessory. there are few convincing arguments to support the wearing of fur, other than the fact that “it’s nice.” Yes, it’s toasty warm, but there are other materials that serve the same purpose. In the twenty-first century, fur can be seen almost as more of a status symbol that a choice of fabric. It seems that fur is more popular now, in this celebrity and status-driven culture, than ever before, and so it will be interesting to see if this trend is reversed as the economic situation deteriorates. On the runways there is hope for those who remain vehemently opposed to the practice of using fur. An increasing number of high-end designers are eschewing fur, including Vivienne Westwood, Calvin Klein, Commes des Garçons and Tommy Hilfiger. It remains to be seen whether or not more will join this list as the recession hits luxury fashion brands over the next few seasons. The flipside of this is that the anti-fur movement itself, which has gained so much ground in recent years, could lose momentum as the ever-fickle fashion pack lose interest in the debate and eventually turn to another source of controversy within the industry. 13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Daphne Guinness

ou are no longer a person; you are a concept.” It was with these most insightful words in mind, once uttered by French arch-philosopher/ journalist Bernard-Henri Lévy, that I arrived excited and expectant at Harvey Nichols, Dundrum for the first Sunday Times Style lecture to be held in Ireland. The subject of the above comment was of course Daphne Guinness, heiress to the sizeable Guinness fortune, mother, divorcée, muse to the most respected of couturiers, bastion of British elegance and more. This premier Irish lecture featured Guinness being interviewed by, acclaimed fashion historian Colin McDowell in the environs of the terribly chic and sophisticated Harvey Nichols restaurant. It all sounded too good to be true and unfortunately, was. Having retired from a rather bustling bar into the dimly lit restaurant, selected one of the few remaining seats which provided an actual view of the goings-on and perused the paltry goody-bag (though the Space NK

complimentary makeover may have pleased the female demographic to a greater extent than myself) laid out, I wasn’t – nor were many of those surrounding me – exactly elated. Note, though, that this was mitigated somewhat by the ample volume of particularly good champagne available. However, crap goody-bags or no, the appearance of Guinness herself was more than enough to appease the slightly disgruntled audience. That was, of course, if one was lucky enough to hold a vantage point, which enabled them to actually see Ms. Guinness approaching the platform. Clad in a provocatively short, almost body-con, inkblack Gareth Pugh number, her trademark armour-esque elbow-length gloves and sporting vertiginous heels Guinness certainly dressed to impress the Irish faction of her fan base. Following much rapturous applause she finally seated herself next to a jovial McDowell and thus the inteview began. In retrospect, it was at that very point that I now realise I should have, perhaps,

Tattoo-lite

Cillian O’Connor on the designer and heiress’s visit to Harvey Nichols

left. Any assumptions of Guinness I had previously held – “She’s not merely an immaculate dresser,” I would assure my peers, “but also an intelligent, aware and very much involved personality” – were soon, quite frankly, quashed. To illustrate, when Guinness was questioned as to whether she

In retrospect, it was at that very point that I now realise I should have, perhaps, left considers herself a “political person” she promptly answered in the affirmative and quite unsuccessfully attempted to prove to the onlookers why this was. Perhaps even more frustrating was her unabashed statement that fashion is a sure signifier of a civi-

Patrice Murphy explores tattooing’s latest guise and discovers that now, it would seem, no needles are required

attoos are where it’s at. C’mon, you know it’s true – it’s exactly like smoking, drinking ‘til you pass out and sex before marriage. Everyone’s doing it and you know it’s cool. Who doesn’t know someone with at least one star as seen on Rihanna’s back? Thoughts on Kate Moss’ anchor? Well, it’s cuter than her new boyfriend. Will you be as cool when you’re a parent as to have a commemorative tattoo á la Angelina? Even “fashion icon” Victoria has been showing off her Hebrew tattoo with her admittedly adorable pixie cut. Yet again, it can go badly wrong – need we mention Amy Winehouse (‘nuff said), Britney’s meltdown, or any Celtic tattoo in the vein of Sporty Spice or Robbie Williams? Fortunately, this year’s mini-trend allows a nod to the bad-ass coolness of tattoos, without the scary “‘til-death-us-dopart’ aspect.” Christian Audigier is the French designer and entrepreneur behind, amongst others, the brands Von Dutch and Ed Hardy, and has appeared on America’s Next Top Model and Janice Dickinson’s Model Agency. His brand Ed Hardy is slowly but surely infiltrating the market and his iconic t-shirts and logos have made appearances on the likes of Paris Hilton, P Diddy and Britney Spears. The label’s distinctive imagery is based on the work of Iowan tattoo-artist Don Ed Hardy, “the Godfather of tattooing,” who’s emphasis is on the fine art aspect of tattooing, as well as it’s traditional Asian heritage.

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lised society and specifically – according to Guinness – of Western civilisation. Since when is fashion and the way we all dress exclusively a phenomenon of the Occident? Fortunately for her, Guinness did recognise her error when subtly criticised by a member of the audience during the subsequent open Q+A, agreeing that many African tribes’ indigenous clothing is “beautiful.” Maybe I’ve been somewhat harsh; especially considering Ms. Guinness probably isn’t accustomed to addressing audiences. But, honestly, her get-up was the only remotely intriguing element of her appearance at the lecture. Other highlights of the evening included the delectable canapés (although few, as always in fashion, were interested), McDowell’s wit and Guinness’s assurance that to be as flawlessly elegant as her adorned self is not dependent upon one’s financial resources but rather on innate creativity. This coming from a woman in Gareth Pugh during a recession, I left unconvinced.

The Ed Hardly line is, like Von Dutch Originals, marketed directly to celebrity clients and, by opening stores in high profile fashion districts, the designer has made it difficult for a lot of us to get our hands on the line, raising the exclusive profile of the brand. The range offers not only men’s and wo-

menswear, but also childrenswear, the like of which suits only the coolest celeb babies – the Beckham boys, the Brangelina brood, Kingston Stefani, etc. If the prints of cartoon-like skulls or lovestruck coyotes, tigers, flowers, koi fish intertwined with gothic roses, broken hearts and traditional banners of significant phrases

like “Love Kills Slowly” or “Death or Glory’, were not recognizable enough, much of the range is emblazoned with the famous tattooist’s signature. The most popular items in the range are the wide variety of bright t-shirts and the eye-catching, bedazzled phone-covers. However the hoodies are fantastically decorated with bright colours and intricate designs and the underplayed track bottoms, often with only one statement block of coloured design, are also worthy of interest. Ed Hardy Intimates is a sideline to the main range and offers a unique selection of underwear which, whilst not overly sexy, is well-designed and comfortable. Not quite as well-known as the rest of the line, Ed Hardy denim is not for the shy retiring type – with loud tattoos on a variety of dark blue to lightwash and ripped denim. The jeans are surprisingly classy despite their descriptions – even those with the label scripted across the bottom. Whilst Ed Hardy is the iconic mini-trend to be seen wearing this year, the similar, lesser-known Shiroi Neko products are also worth checking out. They’re available to buy on www.bluebaldur.com. DeVille, the range from Miami Ink’s Ami James and Chris Munez is too. If, as Oscar Wilde wrote, “fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable we have to alter it every six months,” a tattoo on a tshirt will be much easier to remove when the trend passes.

Need a helping hand?

Rebecca Long and Jean Morley take a look at six best-selling self-help books

ing said all that, at least you’ll be happy. rl

anuary comes around and you’re a wreck. Having gorged yourself on turkey and what may have been dioxin-ridden ham, you’re coughing your way into the most recessive year to date. Deep down, you know that it’s time for some transformation, communication, rejuvenation, hydromation, or whatever else it takes to grease your motor. You might do worse than become an author of a mind/body/spirit book. The formula is simple; make people feel good about themselves, reiterate a few simple mantras and before you know it, you’ll be appearing on Oprah. Remember, always argue from the particular to the general and reduce the most complex human experience to a few simple steps. If this sounds like the work of your average politician, then that’s because it is. Ever wonder where they get their ideas? Secret Habits of Successful Bastards Adrian Maile (SB Publishing, 2007) Secret Habits of Successful Bastards does exactly what it says on the cover: it’s the self help book for people who are just too darn nice to ever be successful. Does it teach you to be less nice and more successful? Or does it just teach you to be more of a bastard? It depends whether you think these two things are mutually exclusive. The book teaches you the “rules of the game successful bastards play” which, according to Maile, is something called successful bastard bingo. He enlightens us on the four levels of self-satisfaction and why being nice will get you nowhere. Look after number one, he tells us, and get more of what is good for you; it’s OK to be a successful bastard. You must be formidable, never give up and use your cloak and dagger at every available opportunity. One can only hope he isn’t advocating mass corporate murder. Maile attempts to deliver the Unpalatable Truth about Lucky Bastards while being instructive and inspiring (in the same way that Mein Kampf is inspiring for future dictators). He merely comes across as snide and condescending. He is, after all, a successful bastard himself. rl The Girl’s Guide to Loving Yourself Diane Mastromarino (Blue Mountain, 2007) The Girl’s Guide to Loving Yourself is a book about falling in love with the one person who matters most – you. No, seriously. Presumably aimed at teenage girls with an obsession for pink, The Girl’s Guide is also “a face-lift, a pick me up, a bubble bath, a wake-up call, and a full body massage for your life.” Not so much a self help book as a spa treatment. The Guide functions on one main principle: loving yourself has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. It has to do, absolutely, positively and completely with you. If you happen to be the aforementioned,

pink-obsessed teenage girl, that is. It contains such gems of whiz-dom as: “get real about life - it’s yours.” I also seem to remember something about teaming up with the school bully so you won’t get beaten up yourself. Oh, and, just so you know, when people start paying attention to you after you’ve bought a new car, they’re not real friends. Cute, glitzy and decidedly fluffy, this book has about as much substance as the bubble-bath it’s supposed to provide for your life. rl The Secret Rhonda Byrne (Simon & Schuster, 2006) Fragments of a “Great Secret” have been found throughout oral traditions, religions and philosophies down through the centuries. And now, thanks to Rhonda Byrne, for the very first time all the pieces of that Secret are coming together in an incredible, inconceivable, hell, downright implausible “revelation” that will be “life-transforming” for all those who experience it. The idea is that we are magnetic beings, attracting positive things through the power of thought. Or, in some instances, through the power of not thinking at all. According to the book, which is astonishingly materialistic, to interact with money in a positive way, i.e. to receive it, you must be clear about the amount you want: state it, intend it and the universe will cough it up. You must do whatever it takes to make yourself feel wealthy, even if that entails spending money you don’t actually have with your

cosmic credit card. From the amount of copies The Secret has sold, Rhonda Byrne, who by a great stroke of luck mannaged to discover this secret in a 100 year-old book, must be a powerfully magnetic person. But the funny thing is, it’s not so much a Secret as a Denial. You mustn’t think about poverty, you mustn’t think about bad relationships or illness. Just magnetise yourself and the world’s your oyster. rl The Little Book of Happiness Heather Summers (Wiley, 2006) This book provides you with “brilliant ideas to transform your life.” This book, which is surprisingly pricey for one so little, is chockfull of happiness wisdom. Even the cover picture of a massive sunflower is optimistically cheerful. Summers says that we may or may not be born with a natural flair for happiness. Apparently, those with a flair for depression as opposed to happiness will just have to work a little bit harder for that extra sunflower of cheeriness. To glean the full benefit of the Little Book’s wisdom, one must answer the “Happiness Questionnaire.” Can you change yourself at any time? Are you happy with your roots? In tune with the universe? Can you talk nicely to yourself and other people? If you answer “yes” to all of those questions, you’re likely to be a dissassociative master of disguise who’s just had a good dye job and who may or may not be slightly schizophrenic. Hav-

The Man Manual: Everything You’ve Ever Wanted to Know About Your Man Dr Linda Papadopoulus (Mobius, 2005) Warning to the female reader: this book will unlock your inner being. Unfortunately, this is likely not so much to be the “perfect girlfriend prototype” its author intended, as a virulent monster. The Man Manual is designed to help every girl break through the communication barrier inherent in modern day relationships, i.e. getting your man to listen while the footie is on TV. To Dr. Papadopoulos, the answer is simple: an acknowledgement of gender difference. Men float on a heavenly plane; beerswilling bastions of noughties’ pub culture, they are, thankfully, gifted with the rational mind. Women are located somewhere between the perma-frost of the 1950s and the hairdressers, as saucepan clanging, curlerwearing, over-thinking wrecks. “He wants to turn the spare room into a games room, you want to paint it yellow because, in your head, it’s the new nursery.” Even if those were the thoughts running through your mind on your first date, you are likely to be offended by more extreme sentiments. “Men are far more solutionfocused than women. While we are dwelling on the past, your man is far more likely to be looking for a way to “fix” the problem.” A useful book, this teaches a girl her true place in any relationship. The kitchen. jm The Definitive Book of Body Language Allan Pease & Barbara Pease (Orion, 2004) An understanding of bodily gesture will change your life, according to Allan Pease. Not only will it enable better communication, a deeper understanding of other people and, in turn, a better sense of self, it will also help you to sell things. The author boasts of his ability to sell over one million dollars worth of products in one year. How? He read the signals; a skill well-learned from a childhood spent selling sponges door-todoor. Amazingly, the book lacks the arrogance of its author and indeed, most self-help book authors, by avoiding long-winded paragraphs and egotistical rants. Instead, photos of ill-adjusted celebrities and funny anecdotes answer fundamental human questions. How can we spot the liars among us? Do pets truly resemble their owners? And, the all-important question; how on earth do you maintain eye contact in a nudist colony? (Don’t even try if you’re a man and sadly lacking in peripheral vision). Developing your awareness of subliminal gestures, this book may rob you of the ability to take people at face value. But becoming attuned to head nods and tongue clicks, you will either become a highly intuitive human being, or a most excellent birdwatcher indeed. jm

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Memento mori

Jean Morley spoke to Deirdre Madden, bestselling Irish author, about her life and work

ut who, after all, are memorials for, the living or the dead? By their very beauty, can they offer comfort to those who are left behind?” Andrew, an art historian and one of the central characters in Molly Fox’s Birthday, is asking a very important question: who, exactly, benefits from memorial art? To Deirdre Madden, the book’s author, such artworks offer redemption for those still living. “Memorials were an important aspect of my book. I think they can be a way of making something good from what is bad. If you can write about trauma or loss or suffering, it can be transformed into something that can make other people feel better about their troubles.” Indeed, the most famous of her nine books, One by One in the Darkness is a work set in violence-ravaged Northern Ireland. A native of Toomebridge, Co. Antrim, Madden points out that, while its characters may not be real, the book is more drawn from life than any of her other works. The book’s portrayal of grief certainly spoke to its readers; it was short-listed for the Orange Prize within a few months of publication. Her most recent book, Molly Fox’s Birthday, published last year, also memorialises violence in the North. But, for Madden, the art of memorialising is laden with responsibility. As the fictional Andrew points out in the novel, there’s a tricky opposition between the work of art and the event it represents. Madden agrees, “I’m very struck by the difference between the commemoration of something and the thing itself, some of the things which we would commemorate, they’re absolutely unspeakable. But the things that memorialise them can be so beautiful. There is something in that discrepancy between them, that’s what I’m interested in”. With each book taking a very different form, it is as if Madden is on a quest to find the best means of commemoration. On the one hand, it is necessary to portray horror accurately. “Some crimes are so ugly, such an affront to humanity that only a brutal, raw, even crude response is adequate.” One by One in the Darkness, with its raw depiction of the impact of Northern violence, is a most horrifying momento mori. From the very beginning of the book, there is a sense of foreboding; the connection between three young women and their native Northern Ireland impacts upon every aspect of their existence. Yet there is the potential for an alternative kind of memorial, as the character of Andrew explains. The object embodying a life, not death, can be the most effective commemoration. A delicate poppy, rather than an austere stone building is a most fitting way of remembering the battle at Flanders. Fleeting and delicate, it encapsulates the nature of lives lost through war. Molly Fox’s Birthday is this second type of memorial, airily depicting contemporary life with any bereavement felt in a most indirect way.

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Concentrating on a Northern Irish woman, and her bohemian life in Dublin, quiet tremors of sadness are never far away. The suggestion is that the North is stuck in a ‘cycle of grief’ but is this something that Madden believes to be true? She answers me with a question. “ Have you ever been to the North?” I admit that I haven’t, despite the allure of cheap shopping and the accent.

words of one of her characters. “Theatre, if it’s any good at all, takes you somewhere outside of time.” By injecting eternal realities into the every day, then, art helps people to transcend. Interestingly, this idea is first pointed by the character of Tom, a priest, who believes that religion, like art, offers a means of redemption. “What’s similar about being an actor and being a priest is a certain percep-

Writing can be very lonely. At least if you’re an actor, the audience is there, you can actually see them. But you can feel that you’re not connected to people when writing “I think that it’s very strange. It’s a very small place and there are great dark complexities there. One of the truly awful things about any conflict is that it never ends. Like the holocaust, it goes on for generations and generations. I think that there is a psychological toll there, which hasn’t worked itself out. It’s subtle and complex.” But how can art provide any sense of solace? We might find Madden’s answer in the

tion of time. Eternity is a priest’s business. But we all live in time. What I’m doing is trying to make people aware that the two can coexist.” Madden explains this idea. “Well what he’s getting at is not that religion is about pretending, or lying. There is something sublime, eternal and real. You have to use certain mechanisms to present that to people. In this way, ritual serves a purpose.” Madden’s sense of the potential of re-

ligion is quite unique. To put it mildly, the church has not been seen as conducive to spiritual enlightenment in recent Irish books. “There are a lot of sort of stock characters, now, of priests in novels. I know that there have been immense problems in the church, but there are a lot of good priests working hard and helping people in their difficult circumstances.” Madden is renowned for her compassionate relationship with character, a quality Sebastian Barry noted as being “almost celestial.” But she admits to occasionally finding it difficult to forge a connection with the people she creates. “I found the characters in Molly Fox’s Birthday quite hard to get to know, especially the two women. In the last novel I wrote, Authenticity, I got to know the characters much faster. But you definitely have to have a certain sympathy for characters, get into their minds.” Grappling with the inner psyches of characters makes writing sound like a most intense labour. But is there ever a surge of sudden inspiration? “I think there’s a bit of both. Sometimes you see something, it might just be a child playing on the street or an animal or you overhear something and it really interests you. You think there may be something more to it. But, unless you sit down and really work at it, it will just go. Seamus Heaney said, when talking about poetry that it’s really a matter of listening in. I believe that’s true for fiction too.” But for Madden, every-day existence is the real master-class. “I think life, generally, is hugely important, that’s where the real knowledge comes from; you need to get out and live”. Indeed Madden appears to have a rich, varied life outside of novel writing. She currently teaches in the School of English and the Oscar Wilde Centre, having previously been resident Writer-fellow. “I’m not a great one for institutions, but as institutions go I think that Trinity is really good place. I find people are supportive. It may have something to do with the architecture; the way it is so compact and so beautiful. You’re always bumping into people. I’m very happy.” But surely Trinity is happy to be associated with Deirdre Madden, a writer at the heights of the trade. A winner of the Rooney Prize for Irish Literature, The Somerset Maugham Award and the Hennessy Award, as well as being short-listed for the Orange Prize, Madden is also member of Aosdána. But how does achieving such recognition, in one’s lifetime impact on a writer’s day-today work? “Writing can be very lonely. At least if you’re an actor, the audience is there, you can actually see them. But you can feel that you’re not connected to people when you’re writing. People might read and enjoy things, but don’t tell the author, so that’s where reviews, nominations and articles come in.” Indeed, the overwhelming desire to reach out to the reader may be one reason for this novelist’s success.

Let them eat cake Aislinn Lucheroni took to the streets of Dublin in an attempt to find some of the city’s finest purveyors of delicious baked goods

Some of the many delightful treats on offer at Léon. Photo: Rachel Kennedy

hristmas bulges, the recession (snore), assignments, essays and adjusting to the fact that it will not be socially acceptable to wake up at 12.30 pm and crack into the Celebrations for breakfast for another 12months. We have a lot to deal with this January. Instead of suggesting you glide off and go for a posh meal to cheer yourselves up, we thought we’d offer some foodie suggestions that are a little kinder on the wallet, although not on that mince pie gut that you may have built up. This week, we are profiling cafés galore – but not just mochalattefrappuccino joints. These bad boys all offer the ultimate pickme-up – CAKE! Going for tea and scones/coffee and a bun/other beverage and other pastry item combo is the perfect in-between-lectures timefiller, but with such an incredible amount of choice available within a five minute radius of Trinity, how can you be sure to steer clear of places charging eight euros for a watery cup of tea and a Cuisine de France special? I will ease us in, dear readers, with a college favourite – Avoca (11-13 Suffolk Street). Always full of Trinity students (99% girls) weighing gourmet salads at the classic salad

bar, Avoca actually offer very good value for baked goods. Downstairs seating is fairly cramped – I would advise buying one of their many delights to take away, getting a massive cup of cheap tea in the Arts Block, fighting for a sofa and settling down to catch up on all the craic from Christmas. They have the best scones ever, in a variety of flavours (try mixed berry). Grab loads of butter – they will provide yummy homemade jam. At only two euros a pop, they have cheered up many an “I’m so broke I brought in a packed lunch” day for me. For around the same price, if you need a sweetness overload, try the Mars Bar Rice Krispie Squares or the Rocky Road. If you’re feeling a bit more flush you could head upstairs. For a slightly higher price here, you will get cream with your scone, and they will heat it up for you (for me, not an issue, for my partner in crime, very much the opposite). They also have more cake options upstairs – I am a particular fan of their lemon curd cake. Heading a few steps further away from college, there are three Léon pastry shops (17 Wicklow Street, 14-15 Trinity Street and 33 Exchequer Street) within spitting distance of each other. This French-style chain

is a pricier option, but they do have good croissants. I hear great things about the glazed fruit tarts but, really, do we want to involve fruit any more than is strictly necessary? The décor is very French, with heavy wooden furniture and antique mirrors, and when I go to Léon I feel I should be writing something in a moleskine, or whispering sweet nothings to my illicit lover. Instead, I can be seen happily stuffing my fat face. On Castle Street (the street between the Powerscourt Centre and Georges Street Arcade) hides one of Dublin’s little gems. La Maison des Gourmets is another French bakery, and its quiet little upstairs café is one of my favourite places in town for a chat. Again, more pastries than actual cakes, the produce on offer here is baked downstairs and on sale to take away, along with bread, quiches, and other non-cake related items (yawn). Venturing further, on Dame Street, just across from Dublin Castle, you will find Queen of Tarts. This tiny little café-bakery is riddled with awards. Cakes cost around a fiver so it’s a bit pricy, but worth the extra euro to not be faced with a reheated Café Sol brownie, in my opinion. Their carrot cake is phenomenal, and they have a vast selection of different delights.

My personal favourite cake shop is a ten minute walk from college but is worth the stroll. The Cake Café is hidden behind a paper shop on Camden Street, in an ecological building where I am convinced I will one day live. Walk up Camden Street, past the Palace, and when you come to the Daintree paper shop (there is an Age Action shop across the road), walk through it (sounds a little odd, I know, but trust me). You may now enjoy homemade and delectable cakes of absolutely every sort. Brilliant value and unbelievably delicious, it can be a long wait for a seat at lunchtimes. For smokers though, or those who are famished and so bored of waiting that they will brave the freezing cold, there are tables outside, and these lovely people will give you blankets and hot water bottles to alleviate your suffering. All the places mentioned above also serve lunchtime fare. They are all excellent for lunch and can get a bit packed, so why not make the most of insane college timetabling, and save both money and time by bringing in a packed lunch, and then spending the money saved on bringing a friend for afternoon tea? There is no better way to beat the January Blues, and it definitely won’t break the bank. 13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Restaurant reviews

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13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Italian restaurant, especially at €10.95 with a base that was thin but not crispy and flavourless toppings. Another nearby diner opted for the Spaghetti Bolognese and was disappointed. She pronounced the meat as being of “poor quality” and that the sauce was watery and unpleasant. I could have made a nicer Bolognese than that and I wouldn’t have charged €13.50 for it either. Given that most of us hadn’t bothered with starters, we were eager to see the dessert menu. The main course was certainly less than satisfying in my case. When the menus arrived, I was disappointed to see the dismal collection of mass-produced ice-cream pots that seem to now pass for “dessert” in hundreds of mediocre restaurants. One item claimed to be “homemade tiramisu”; I was tempted to ask the waitress whether this was an accurate description. But her less-than-friendly manner didn’t exactly invite questions. No one ordered a dessert and we were not offered tea or coffee. Overall, I do not see myself ever recommending this restaurant to anyone. The food was average and overpriced, and service was just about adequate. There are several Italian restaurants within a stone’s throw of this place, that provide more satisfying food, and friendlier service at more competitive prices. Áine Boyle

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The menu in Little Caesar’s is fairly typical of Italian restaurants, with a broad selection of pizzas and pastas and a good choice of meat and fish dishes too. A few of the party ordered garlic bread to be served with the main course, but otherwise no one bothered with the starter menu, in typical student fashion. I chose the Tagliatelle Pollo Funghi, which seemed reasonable at €12.95. A fairly standard pasta dish with chicken and mushrooms in a creamy white wine sauce duly arrived. I quickly realised that the price and quality were not on even keel; the portion was decidedly less than generous and I could have happily eaten a second serving afterwards. Although the chicken and mushrooms were cut in large chunks and seemed of decent quality, the white wine sauce was somewhat tasteless. Overall, it was a stingy serving of unremarkable food. Several of the group ordered pizzas; none had any complaints but there were no rave reviews either. Two of the group sitting near me ordered pizza, one plain Margherita and one “Alla Americana” (that’s ham and pineapple to you and me). I tasted the Margherita myself, and agreed it was unimpressive. The base was thin and soggy and the tomato sauce and cheese were completely flavourless. It wasn’t awful but tasted like a reasonably good frozen pizza, and, in my opinion, that’s just not good enough in an

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(01) 6745780

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College Green, Dublin 2

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nity New Tri s

Toscana. It is the kind of place that you go to when you want proper Italian portions. None of this nouvelle cuisine malarky that is increasingly popular in our fair city. You may walk in to Toscana, but you get rolled out! Located just beyond City Hall, it is conveniently within walking distance of Trinity. The décor is simple. The lighting intimate, and therefore a great choice for couples. The music is suitably low enough to converse, but also loud enough to add to the mood. It is true that Toscana is a little bit pricier than your average restaurant. But, for something a little bit more special, this is the place. Bear in mind, though, that on the weekends this place is very popular and more suitable if you are going out for a meal with friends. The owners have their own gardens in Wicklow, meaning the food is guaranteed to be picked fresh and they do some mean organic salads. The starters are full of flavour, and the portions are quite large. I had the Bruschetta for €6.50, which was a charming combination of homemade toasted bread, freshly chopped tomatoes, olive oil, a lot of fresh basil and some garlic and black pepper. The crab claw starter (€16.95) seemed to be a hands down favourite with the girls. The claws were pan-fried and served with a pleasant garlic and herb butter. The garlic mushrooms were, again, well received, sautéed with garlic, cream

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and Italian herbs. However, it must be said that Ms. Meath was expecting the battered variety, so she was a tad disappointed. The mains were once again large, and most of the party found it difficult to finish their order! The pan-fried tiger prawns (€23.65) were rather delicious with a lovely mixture of garlic, lemon juice and olive oil. I had the Pollo alla Milanese (€17.45), which consists of chicken breast that has been stuffed to full capacity with ham garlic and mozzarella, is then rolled in breadcrumbs and topped of with a tomato sauce and mozzarella. If I am being totally honest, it did not rock my boat, but it was very filling and suitably tasty. Other dishes, such as the Pollo alla Diavola (€16.55) and the Filetto di Manzo (€25.25) went down a treat, according to my fellow diners. Dessert is the highlight of Toscana. The double chocolate fudge cake, is as delicious as it sounds. Imagine a warm chocolate sponge, with an Italian chocolate sauce in between, served with fresh cream. It was wicked. The biggest surprise here, though, is the dessert prices – the fudge cake, for example, is a mere €6.10. The catch to these prices is that you may be tempted to order seconds. All in all, it would have to be said that yes Toscana is a little bit pricier, but you do get a lot for your money. I will be back soon (if only to order that fudge cake again). Melanie O’Reilly

CD Reviews

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This reissued deluxe edition of Brighten the Corners is the fourth in a series of biennial Pavement re-releases by Matador since the dissolution of the band in 1999. The cynics might be inclined to scream “sell-out” at this apparent money-making ploy, but, on closer inspection, this remastered release has plenty to offer both the loyal fan and those new to the idiosyncratic Pavement. Probably their most accessible album, the original Brighten the Corners lacked the visceral punch of its predecessors in that it ceased to surprise. Instead, the album embodied a more focused and mature Pavement, toning down their frenzied, hyperactive elements and producing a collection of predominantly down-tempo songs. This resulted in the band achieving their greatest commercial success with the ostentatious “Stereo” and the mellow “Shady Lane.” The latest edition of the album has succeeded in presenting a fuller view of the band, as well as frontman Steven Malkmus, with valuable additions in the form of chaotic live versions, b-sides and a variety of covers (including a version of Echo and the Bunnymen’s “Kill-

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ing Moon” which, oddly enough, accommodates Malkmus’s voice remarkably well). Other notable standouts include an alternative version of the gentle “Type Slowly” in the form of the riotous “Slowly Typed” as well as some live sessions with John Peel. Complete with Malkmus’s pithy vocals and flighty, often humourous lyrics along with whirling guitar riffs and bluesy melodies, this expanded version of Brighten the Corners has managed to sum up what the original album couldn’t. As far as the b-sides go, it’s obvious why a number of them failed to make it onto the album in the first place. That said, the vast majority are solid examples of Pavement at their best, helping to fill out the album’s originally narrow focus. The final result is a record that highlights the band’s wide range, from the polished melodies to the gritty live shows and everything in between. For the Pavement fan, the album is a veritable treasure trove. But it also works as a great introductory album, standing as a testament to one of the most influential indie-rock bands of the nineties. Lisa McGarrigle

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Glasvegas have all the tools needed to become overnight rock sensations: a collection of songs concerning divorce, domestic violence and knife-crime, the working class credentials that Oasis have thrived upon and the wholehearted backing of Alan McGee, discoverer of the Libertines amongst others. The NME have given glowing reviews as have The Guardian and Q, however, could this wave of overnight hype threaten to destroy the band? The answer is a resounding no – they’ve managed to release a solid debut album and have, for the most part, justified the hype. The album opens with “Flowers and Football Tops.” Inspired by the murder of Glaswegian teenager Kriss Donald, the tune is a swirling landscape of sound which references the Jesus and Mary Chain and carries a sweet melody. The closing refrain of “you are my only sunshine” really deepens the impact. “Daddy’s Gone,” the album’s highestcharting single, is a powerful narrative of the pain of divorce. The track is probably the most most radio-friendly of the bunch, but this does nothing to dilute its emotional impact.

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“Go Square Go” gives a brief respite from the emotional impact of the album, its howling post punk guitar and scattershot drums narrating an imminent playground fight. However, the final chants of “here we fucking go” cannot help but bring the listener to a darker place. Glasvegas provide music which acts as a backdrop to their hometown of Glasgow but the social issues which pepper their material is as relevant to the youth of Paris as it is to that of Dublin or Scotland. “Stabbed” provides one of the most harrowing moments on the album: the title is self explanatory and the feedback-laden guitar gives an air of hopelessness unique to Glasvegas. “No cavalry could ever save me, I’m gonna get stabbed” sums up what a newspaper article never could. The band are often compared to Oasis – they even reference “What’s the Story, Morning Glory” in “It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry” – but Glasvegas are set apart from every other band of the moment because what they sing is real. Think the Arctic Monkeys with social responsibility. Keith Grehan

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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CD Reviews

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13 January – 26 January, 2009

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Animal Collective’s ninth LP sees them try their hand at electronic music, much like last year’s Water Curses EP. Long gone are the animal shouts and raw ideas of Here Comes The Indian and Sung Tongs, and in come programmed beats and pristine production. The album begins with “In The Flowers”, starting like it could have been on Feels. Halfway through the second minute, it explodes from a gentle creep into a chirping electronic riff and an increasingly prominent beat. It’s an atmospheric and promising start. Deep fuzzy bass overwhelms ‘My Girls’ and ‘Also Frightened’ but the harmony breakdowns save them, and the beautiful last minute and a half of the latter with shimmering effects and voices that could have been on Here Comes The Indian is magical. ‘Summertime Clothes’ is another bouncy song which sounds a little too like it could have been written by Battles, and it doesn’t come close to other lively tracks in their discography like ‘Purple Bottle’. ‘Daily Routine’ changes into a slow-motion, blissful high with delayed chords, chanting and some of the better background sounds on the album cre-

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Chinese Democracy

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Geffen

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ate a perfect mid-point. The comedown starts with the gentle ‘Bluish’, which has faultless vocals. The arrangement feels unnecessarily boisterous, the beats taking more out of the groove than they are putting in. ‘Taste’ is a good example of what I don’t like about this album: looped electronic filler beats and a naff synth melody which degrades the track to sounding like a Nintendo. The album ends with ‘Brothersport’, another exotic sounding song with a super catchy ending, an album highlight. Unfortunately, the electronic squeaks and copied-andpasted beats again only serve to hamper rather than add colour to the otherwise great music that’s going on. The transfer to electronic music may be just the latest phase of AC’s development, but I feel this shift has robbed them of their ramshackle energy and hypnotic appeal. The programmed loops make the grooves repetitive rather than captivating, and sometimes the genius parts get buried in uninteresting samples. Nonetheless MPP is worthy of your purchase and carries more enjoyment and ideas in the cover art alone than most other albums. Ross Hamer and Donncha McCoil

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As we enter the final year of the Noughties, perhaps what will be remembered most about this decade is how much we rehashed previous cultural milestones, often with disappointing results. Classic styles and characters were dusted off and brought back for their bankable appeal in the film and fashion worlds; while in music, the comeback was king. Johnny Cash and Neil Diamond both received the Rick Rubin treatment, Billy Corgan attempted not one but two comebacks, and as for Jay-Z, I’ve lost count of the amount of “last-ever” albums with his name on it. Into this underwhelming line-up comes Chinese Democracy, the new album from the last of the late, great, hairmetal groups, Guns N’ Roses. Front man Axl Rose’s pet project for over a decade, Chinese Democracy has been a long time coming. Unfortunately, it isn’t worth the wait. I find it hard to believe anyone could make it all the way through this album without laughing at least once. Whether it be the cheesy oriental voices that open the album and provide the lead-in to the ‘political’ title track, the over-layered

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vocals and terrible lyrics of “Sorry,” or the mandolin n’ porno bass combo of “If the World,” this album is hilarious fun. My personal best was making it to the eighth track, “Scraped,” before cracking up. It opens with a bizarre bit of vocal gymnastics set against another sample of Rose’s voice singing what could be the tune. Now and again there are hints at some decent music, such as the stomping breakdown of “Better,” and Rose deserves some credit for presenting all the different facets of the band’s sound. The guitar pyrotechnics are all here, in abundance, lifting power ballads such as “Street of Dreams” and “This Is Love.” More often than not though, the solos come in as overblown punch lines, meshing unsuccessfully with some decidedly 90s-sounding beats. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d miss Slash on an album, but the overbearing presence of Axl Rose in every aspect of every song is too much to bear. Rose, at 46, may still have the appetite for destruction, but both his band, and this album, sound like weapons for an old war. Michael Armstrong

Film reviews III

Daniel Craig, Live Schreiber, Jamie Bell

running time

137 minutes

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Given the plethora of Holocaust movies already in existence, it is not an easy task to break through the stereotypes and deliver something meaningful. Unfortunately, even equipped with a remarkable true story, Edward Zwick’s Defiance fails to deliver and is plagued by the feeling that you have seen it all before. Based on the story of four Jewish brothers who escape from the Nazis before going on to form a resistance community in the Belarusian forest, Defiance never transcends the usual tale of a reluctant hero struggling to overcome obstacles, both internal and external, and become the leader he needs to be etc etc. Daniel Craig and Liev Schreiber do their best in the lead roles to make the film feel like something special. A pair of brothers a little too obviously defined as the responsible one (Craig’s Tuvia) and the wild one (Schreiber’s Zus), they return to their family homestead in Belorussia to find their parents murdered by Nazis. Following this discovery, they flee with their younger brothers Asael (Jamie Bell) and Aron (George McKay) to the woods they once navigated as children. After striking back against the Nazi officer responsible for killing their parents, Tuvia and Zus vow to live nobly, and make survival their way of fighting back. Before long, they’ve assembled a colony of refugees in the woods, as more and more Jews get word of the haven that the Bielski brothers have established. Tuvia and Zus struggle with a

deeply held rivalry (that we are told little about), but Zus acts as the muscle of the group, while Tuvia struggles to find the strength to establish law and order. Everyone pitches in building shelters, cooking food and hunting, while Zus establishes an alliance with the Russian Army that provides them with even more physical protection. Soon the rift between the brothers drives Zus to fight with the Reds. Meanwhile, at the camp, life just goes on as normal. Finally, the Nazis discover the camp where, unsurprisingly, Zus and Tuvia must reunite to save the community that has come to rely on them. Ultimately, the film fails to capture the truth in this true story. The writing especially seems like it was formulated from a list of inspirational clichés. With lines like, “Our vengeance is to live!” and “Every day of freedom is like an act of faith”, Zwick and his writing partner Clayton Frohman fail to capture the gritty reality of what these people actually went through. The choice to use the English language also serves to distance the film from 1942 Belarus. It’s frustrating to think of how much more dynamic the story could have been with a more sincere script and a few narrative tricks, like a frame story or flashbacks to keep the fascinating true-life details intact. Defiance ends with actual pictures of the Bielskis, and a brief summary of the amount of lives saved. It is a shame that such an interesting historical event was not done the justice it deserves. Rob Grant

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Sean Anders

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Josh Zuckerman, Amanda Crew, Clark Duke

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My heart sank as I read the synopsis of this film: “18 year old Ian Lafferty sets out on a cross country drive with his best friends Lance and Felicia in order to lose his virginity to a red-hot babe he met on the Internet.” Hardly sounds like a cinematic masterpiece, does it? However, I decided to keep an open mind and tried hard not to think about all the tragically unfunny teen movies that have been spawned by the likes of American Pie and Road Trip. And, to my surprise, Sex Drive wasn’t all that bad. Ian (Josh Zuckerman) is an awkward, bumbling teenager who tends to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. He’s hopelessly in love with his best friend, girl-nextdoor type Felicia (Amanda Crew), but she’s too busy lusting after his other friend, Lance (Clark Duke), to notice. Lance, in turn, is too busy seducing every female in sight to take much notice of either of them. Ian spends his evenings flirting online with the presumably “redhot babe” known only as “Miss Tasty.” When this charming lady invites him to visit her in Knoxville with a promise to take him “all the way,” Lance convinces him to steal his brother’s prized vintage Pontiac GTO and the two of them set out to drive 500 miles and take her up on the offer. Felicia, of course, ends up in tow, although oblivious to the true purpose of the trip. Along the way, the trio run into all kinds of obstacles and learn some valuable lessons about life and each other. If none of this sounds strikingly original, that’s because it isn’t. However, what sets Sex Drive apart from other tiresome

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movies of its genre is its genuinely likeable characters and some surprisingly funny gags. The cast do well with their material and manage to make the characters seem less one-dimensional than you might expect. Clark Duke in particular is amusing as the unlikely womaniser Lance. James Marsden also gets a few chuckles as Ian’s psychotic and ridiculously homophobic older brother, Rex. Seth Green unsurprisingly steals the movie, however, as Ezekiel, an Amish smart-ass with an uncanny gift for hotrod repair. The humour is somewhat reminiscent of Superbad rather than American Pie (although nowhere near the quality of the former), and while the jokes are predictably crude, there are some undeniably funny moments. I mean, who can resist giggling at a giant talking doughnut? It’s funnier than it sounds, I promise. Although there is nothing particularly surprising in the plot, the audience is kept sufficiently amused and interested in whether Miss Tasty will live up to her internet profile to keep the film’s 105 minutes from dragging on. Sex Drive clearly isn’t going to win critical acclaim. It’s not very clever and although a cut above most of its type, it still isn’t a particularly memorable film. But if you’re in the mood for a cheap laugh, you could do much worse. And if you’re in the mood for some deep, intellectual pondering, well, why did you buy a ticket for something called Sex Drive? Áine Boyle

13 January – 26 January, 2009

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David Kross, Kate Winslet, Ralph Fiennes

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123 min

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Adapted from the hugely successful, bestselling novel of the same name, The Reader is latest in a long line of films dealing with the Holocaust. In recent years such weighty films “of high moral tone” have been criticised for being cynically motivated, designed only to win Oscars and the December release of this film, conveniently just before Oscar season, will do nothing to silence the critics. Directed by Stephen Daldry, of The Hours and Billy Elliot fame, the film tells the story of Michael Berg, a student who has a brief tryst with an older woman who, unbeknownst to him, is a war criminal. In the opening scenes, we are introduced to Michael, a successful, middle age lawyer, played here morosely by Ralph Fiennes, living in the Germany of 1995. Although successful, Michael is enigmatic and emotionally indecipherable, a fact which is attested to by an awkward and distant relationship with his daughter. To discover what lies behind the brooding and unknowable façade of this man, we flash backward through time to post-war West Germany and into every teenage boy’s fantasy: 15year-old Michael (David Kross) meets Hanna Schmitz (Kate Winslet), a woman twice his age and the pair embark on a brief affair. In their first sexual encounter, she tells him to take his clothes off so she can give him a bath after he dirties himself fetching her coal. Soon she too is naked and sexy time follows soon after in a plot twist that could easily have been lifted from a 70s porno. An integral part of their relationship involves Michael reading to the illiterate

Hanna – a fact that she hides from him and the outside world. He reads everything from Chekov to Tintin to her and she rewards him with sex (school was never that much fun). Eventually she disappears without warning, leaving young Michael heartbroken. Flash forward to Michael’s student days and we find him emotionally distant and anaesthetized by the loss his first love. It is here, while attending a war crimes trial as a law student, that Michael makes a grim and shocking discovery about Hanna’s past in the S.S. and her role in the Holocaust. The film is well acted with Winslet in particular delivering a powerful and spirited performance as the sultry N.I.L.F. Hanna, even though she is often given little to say. Kross is superb as young Michael and convincingly precocious to bed a thirty-something. The great tragedy of cinematic adaptations of books is the tendency to slavishly adhere to the source material and consequently marginalize artistic interpretation. The film, like the book, grapples with the guilt felt in Germany after the war but, save for a few choice pieces of dialogue in which Michael’s fellow students discuss Hanna’s trial, there is little which approaches the book’s ability to provoke an intense emotional response in the audience on the subject of Hanna’s guilt. Worse still, the focus seems to drift from the weighty issue of war crimes toward adult illiteracy, so by the time the film has delivered its final underwhelming message we are slightly disinterested. Alan Henry

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Slumdog Millionaire

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Danny Boyle

starring

Dev Patel, Freida Pinto, Anil Kapoor

running time

120 min

Since winning the prize for best film of the year from the National Board of Review and picking up a casual three gongs at the British Independent Film Awards, Slumdog Millionaire has been surrounded by a frisson of hype. Set in Mumbai, the film chronicles the life of Jamal (Dev Patel), a boy from the slums who has entered the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? in a final attempt to communicate with Latika (Freida Pinto), a girl from his past. When he wins an outrageous 10,000 rupees, he raises the suspicion of the show’s host Prem Kumar (Anil Kapoor) and is delivered to a local police inspector for some particularly rough interrogation. Within the confines of the local police station, Jamal reluctantly decides to tell his story. We are then plunged straight into the narrative, his journey unfolding as a series of flashbacks, intersected by clips from the game show. With his younger brother Salim as his wing-man, and Latika (his future love-interest) as their “third musketeer” he moves from witnessing the murder of his mother in the anti-Muslim riots of the nineties, to being an orphan beggar for a ruthless gang lord and finally coffee boy and unlikely contestant on the famous game show. A modern day Oliver Twist, Jamal’s charm is the unlikely result of both his resilience and vulnerability. Within this framework, screenwriter Simon Beaufoy (The Full Monty) is able to oscillate between the game show, real time and flashbacks. This allows him to splice up the story and re-assemble it in

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the most resourceful ways possible. No detail is superfluous, and this energy is carried through by the cinematography. Like the children, the camera moves restlessly, reminiscent of Meirelles’s City of God. The early shots glide and dart through the streets, giving the audience a real feel for the city and its convoluted, vibrant maze of streets. Beaufoy says of his goal for the script: “I wanted to get [across] the sense of this huge amount of fun, laughter, chat, and sense of community that is in these slums. What you pick up on is this mass of energy.” This is exactly what this film has achieved. Exuberance pulses through the script, cinematography and the musical score, which ranges from M.I.A. to Bollywood. A whole spectrum of colours and beats co-mingle under Boyle’s slick direction, as the location flashes from the Mumbai slums, to the Taj Mahal, to the set of Millionaire. Critics who dismiss Slumdog Millionaire as a mawkish romance are being fatuous. Although the thread connecting Latika and Jamal may be tenuous, Boyle is not coy in his depictions of street violence and his main characters have too much depth to be casually categorised. This film is neither a love story, nor a simple “rags to rajah” tale, but a bright tribute to the generosity and resilience of the human spirit. The recent terrorist atrocities in Mumbai add an unforeseen poignancy to the tale, but, typical of Boyle, the film tells a much different story; that of an emerging and vibrant cosmopolitan city. Gabrielle Telfer Hales