Melancholia end of the world, A Round-Heeled Woman & Human Rights......

The week that Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi was beaten to a pulp, Liam Fox was delighted that the despots demise knocked him off the front pages.  The EU rebels showed that they weren't scared of David Cameron, 79 Tory MPs rebelled against the government by voting for an EU referendum, as well as 19 Labour MPs and the most exciting news of all that Just A Minute with Nicholas Parsons will be broadcast on BBC2 to mark its 45th anniversary.  I think we've all known for a long time that the world has gone completely bonkers.  The world's weather, the world's diet and the world leaders’ brains have got inexplicably mushed and it is not even Halloween quite yet!

So is Lars von Trier a modern day Nostradamus predicting the end of the world or just a manic depressive genius?  Should we wonder why are we all striving for yet another Xbox to practice our embarrassing moves to, or working 100 hour weeks when we're just about to go up in smoke?  2012 Nostradamus predictions paint a bleak picture of massive destruction and havoc brought about by a comet. It is not clear whether this comet will strike the earth or will pass very close to our planet, causing massive earthquakes and other cataclysmic occurrences.  Certain interpreters put the size to be just a little less than the planet Jupiter, and if such a comet passes close to the earth the effect of its gravity will cause the oceans to rise and also give rise to earthquakes. 

Another theory is that the even though the comet will pass close to the earth it might cause an asteroid to shift course and impact the earth. Such an impact will be the size of several atomic bombs and will cause massive destruction. Some predict that the superpowers of the world will send atomic missiles to break this asteroid in space, but still there will be a shower of hail and fire from its fragments.  For 2012 Nostradamus also suggest that because of the massive destruction caused by the comet there will be widespread anarchy and certain nations can take advantage and plunge the world into a third World War.

So far so jolly then and Lars von Trier kicks off 'Melancholia' with the end of the world and then he hits us with a mesmerising story that's moving, troubling and beautifully filmed.  Jonathan Romney in The Independent probably wrote the best review and so without shame, I have done a Johann Hari (who I think is terrific by the way!) and lifted some of his best comments, as I couldn’t begin to describe the movie better.  The Dane's facetious "I'm a Nazi" routine in Cannes – which suggested that he's less cinema's John Galliano than its Frankie Boyle – drummed up the scandal that, unusually, his film itself didn't.  Melancholia isn't, this time, a Von Trier shocker – in contrast to the screeching excess of the art-horror ordeal Antichrist. Instead, Melancholia is intimate, surprisingly honest-seeming, and less interested in provocation than in weaving an eerie, troubling spell. Not that Von Trier isn't out for effect, to a degree – he does kick off with nothing less than the End of the World, our globe pounded to dust as it collides with a bigger planet to the overpowering swell of Tristan und Isolde.

This is only part of an extraordinary opening that's one of the strangest, most beautiful things in recent cinema. Melancholia's prelude is a series of tableaux in uncanny hyper-slow motion: a falling horse seeming to deflate like a balloon; Charlotte Gainsbourg carrying a child across a golf course that has turned to sponge at her feet; Kirsten Dunst in bridal white, entangled in ugly grey tendrils. The first chapter follows radiant bride Justine (Dunst), as she arrives at her wedding party only to find everyone behaving appallingly. Justine's sister Claire (Gainsbourg) and her wealthy husband John (Kiefer Sutherland) are fussing about cost and timekeeping; the bride's mother (Charlotte Rampling) is in a venomous sulk; and her boss (Stellan Skarsgard) is hounding her for an advertising tag-line. Little wonder Justine's one moment of real pleasure comes when she hoists her billowing meringue skirts to take a rapturous piss on the golf course. 

This part of the film is briskly comic, like a knockabout remake of Festen, but also decidedly odd: it's supposedly set in America, but you feel you're in a curious semi-Scandinavian non-place.  The sparer, more sombre Chapter Two is seen largely from Claire's viewpoint.  We learn that the planet Melancholia is hovering overhead, possibly on a collision course with Earth. Rationalist John, armed with charts and telescope, insists that there will only be a "fly-by", but Justine seemingly knows something that other mortals don't. "The Earth is evil," she snarls. "We don't need to grieve for it." This, the film's most explicitly adolescent bit of doomsaying, is closely followed by the only moment that's unintentionally comic, as Justine samples a slice of her sister's meatloaf, then mumbles: "It tastes like ashes."

Von Trier's detractors may complain that he hasn't really created characters, that he's not seeing beyond himself, and that it's terribly petty-minded for an artist to invoke cataclysm just because he's feeling out of sorts himself. Von Trier, however, is both a showman and a lover of the intimate: only he would pulverise the globe as a preface to a chamber drama about family unhappiness. I don't know if the world will quickly forgive him his Hitler quips, but for Melancholia, I'll even forgive him Antichrist. 
 

Let’s lighten up the mood for a second and I beg you to do one thing before the 20^th November and that is, to go to the Riverside Studios (make sure you treat yourself before or after the show at The River Café) and watch multi-award winning actress Sharon Gless (Cagney & Lacey, Queer As Folk, Burn Notice) in the fantastic A Round-Heeled Woman. The play is an adaptation of Jane Juska’s best-selling novel that chronicles the real-life adventures resulting from a personal ad she placed in The New York Review of Books: Before I turn 67 - next March - I would like to have a lot of sex with a man I like. If you want to talk first, Trollope works for me. She received 63 replies, from men aged between 32 and 84.  Beware, it doesn't necessarily portray men in a great light, the only person who really understands her is the youngest guy and something very emotional in a library between them, becomes the most poignant part of the play.

Along Jane's courageous journey she falls in love, has her heart broken, suffers rejection and humiliation, has a lot of laughs and her first orgasm with a man after 30 years.

Book your tickets: http://www.riversidestudios.co.uk/cgi-bin/page.pl?l=1308749590

And so to the Human Rights Act.  Love it or hate it, it's here to stay.  Do you throw your remote control at the television everytime Shami Chakrabarti appears on Question Time, like a friend of mine does? or are you a paid up member of Amnesty International? with who you have to admire greatly in their quest for justice, whatever your political persuasion.  Perhaps the idiots that run our country are Lars von Tier's long lost cousins, considering the time and utter drivel that is written and spoken about in Parliament.  Theresa May won cheers as she declared that the Human Rights Act "needs to go".  At the same time, David Cameron admitted he would like to go "a little further" at reforming the controversial laws, which Liberal Democrat leader Nick Cleff has vowed to keep.  "We all know the stories about the Human Rights Act," May said.  "The violent drug dealer who cannot be sent home because his daughter lives here.  The robber who cannot be removed because he has a girlfriend.  The illegal immigrant who cannot be deported because - and I am not making this up - he had a pet cat."

Ken Clarke accused Theresa May of using a "laughable, child-like" example to press the case for scrapping the Human Rights Act.  David Cameron used his conference closing speech (unless you'd fallen to sleep by the end of the conferences, which of course you had every right to do, they were so tedious) to poke fun at Ken Clarke, suggesting his top team should read children's book Mog The Cat.  Cameron said, "If you, like me, read that book to your children at bedtime, you will remember that Mog The Cat helps the police to catch the burglar, not keep him in the country" and even walked off stage to The Cure's song Love Cats.

Good god, what a performance by the so called expensively educated people that run our country.  Is that Melancholia comet due to zoom past any time soon?!

Aside from above, 10 other things I read, did and encountered this week that may be of interest, or maybe you would prefer me to shut up and you can go back to reading your new Heat magazine:

1.  Dreaming of a beach holiday even though summer hasn't truly ended;

2.  Booking Jerusalem, missed it at The Royal Court and the perfect Christmas Eve performance;

3.  Fascinated by the new Conde Nast magazine Baku - who would have known it could rival the South of France?!

4.  Buying Christmas charity cards & presents early this year to avoid the weekend crowds, even better, buy everything online and get it delivered;

5.  Missing TOWIE, X-Factor & Made In Chelsea, reason is as am out having a real life and not being remotely bothered by missing any of it;

6.  Re-visiting Notting Hill & Portobello market for old times sake, beware of the many, many, tourists looking for the blue door;

7.  Buying new clothes on The Outnet, Net A Porter's perpetual sale site & a big nod to designer austerity;

8.  Grayson Perry: The Tomb of The Unknown Craftsman at The British Museum;

9.  Booking a flu jab, so as not to come down with the lergy at the forthcoming Christmas parties;

10.  At last have seen Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, amazing acting and tension, although not quite the 5 stars I was anticipating.

Vanessa Redgrave, London Fashion Week & Tinker Tailor Sophie Dahl.

Have always loved Vanessa Redgrave.  Certainly not one to shy away from controversy.  A revolutionary Marxist who accepts Bafta's from a Prince - in this case last year, William.  Still glossy haired and bright eyed, she is now the travellers most ardent and prolific spokeswoman - Paddy Doherty Big Fat Gypsy Wedding by way of Big Brother winner 2011 would be proud!  It has been announced over the weekend that the travellers from Dale Farm in Essex have indeed been evicted and the campaign has been lost, although there have been more gruesome reports of gypsy thefts & harbouring overseas slaves on the camp, which hasn't bode well for their PR: http://www.guardian.co.uk/theguardian/2011/sep/10/vanessa-redgrave-interview?CMP=twt_gu

Redgrave does not boast the most tactful history of acceptance speeches. Four years ago, having been recognised for her lifetime's achievement by the Transylvania film festival, she dedicated the award to a group campaigning against a gold mine in Romania owned by one of the festival's sponsors. A number of villagers then put their names to an advert that was published in the Guardian stating that they were very happy with the gold mine and wanted the development it would bring.

In 1977, she won the best supporting actress Oscar for her role in Julia and told the audience at the Academy Awards that she wouldn't be intimidated by a "bunch of Zionist hoodlums". That's the kind of sentiment that might play well in, say, Tripoli or Tower Hamlets, but it doesn't win you many friends in Hollywood.  Winning friends, however, has never been high on Redgrave's list of priorities. Saving humanity has long been her main objective.  But when not giving her active support to a variety of causes, from the plight of Chechen separatists to the battle against supermarkets, she has built one of the most lauded careers in acting, both on stage and in film.

In 2007, Redgrave wrote an open letter to Natasha in which she regretted her absence as a mother. Most saddening of all is that Natasha was to die two years later.  In May 2008, before Natasha died, I watched Vanessa's amazingly intense performance of the one woman show "The Year of Magical Thinking," at The National Theatre in London, Joan Didion's unsparing play about grief following the unexpected deaths of her husband and daughter, which transferred to New York. In the time since she last performed the part, the life of star Vanessa Redgrave has taken a grimly similar turn to that of her character.  Hopefully more cheery will be Driving Miss Daisy which comes to London in a couple of weeks and yet to buy tickets for.  Set against the backdrop of the civil rights struggle, it's the story of Daisy Werthan, a wealthy Southern Jewish woman, and Hoke Colburn, her illiterate chauffeur, and how, over a number of years, they grow to depend on each other.  Long live Vanessa and her off the radar magical thinkings.

One silly season over, i.e. August and another one begins, i.e. London Fashion Week: http://www.londonfashionweek.co.uk/  #LFW as it is known, certainly beats the gormless velocity of dullness of the Lib Dems conference in Birmingham it has to be said.  Politics is showbusiness for ugly people was never truer when you accidentally turn over to the Parliament channel and see Danny Alexander, only to think you inadvertently tuned into Friday the 13th by mistake.  Nick Clegg giving a passionate speech, that even Miriam would look glazed over at.  Still swooning over David Miliband's excellent turn at Question Time last week, however, that's for another time and back to #LFW for now.  London restaurants are full of fashionistas, Nobu, Zuma, the newer Hakkasan Mayfair, in fact everywhere that doesn't serve carbs, is packed out with strange size zero people with huge sunglasses and oversized Birkins.  I was surrounded by them whilst I was having lunch at Nobu in Park Lane (never the Berkeley Street one, too chav) yesterday lunchtime.  I was far more interested that Lakshmi Mittal was having lunch two tables along and regret having the momentary lapse in pushiness to have given him my property business card.  Far more likely to be reading Fortune these days, rather like Zoe Lucker's character in Footballers Wives, than digesting Closer.

Bring back John Galliano, all is forgiven.  Well not quite forgiven to be fair and what a silly boy he was, everyone has since been to La Perle having their photos taken since the outrage, making faces.  As well as the fact that he hasn't showed his collection in London since the early 90's for what I remember, buying a brilliant ruched skirt in Square in Bath in about 1988/89 which was the height of chic and about a week's wages in those days.  Whilst London is buzzing during LFW and twitter is on high alert of new trends, nothing beats Paris Fashion Week for glamour, sheer talent and the fact that you can waste hours watching vaccous TV of Rachel Zoe's reality show.  Did you see the one where she went to Mademoiselle Chanel's salon above the shop and lay on the immaculate cream sofa with her dirty shoes on, said 'oh my gawd, this is awesome' about twenty times, whilst dozey Brad nodded like a parrot on speed, mon dieu!

Have you seen Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy?  Nope, nor have I.  Not since my favourite Curzon cinemas decided to raise their prices to the equivalent of feeding a small African country in entrance ticket fees.  Have read at least four reviews, listened to John Le Carre's excellent Radio 4 interview on the Today programme driving to work.  Perhaps I will see it, it sounds like the sort of film that so rarely gets made with top British actors and described as a spy Su Doku by The Times.  A client of mine watched it at Bafta the other night, only to have been nudged by his ex(obviously)-girlfriend, when he thought it too slow and promptly fell asleep on her shoulder, snoring loudly. 

On a separate note, did anyone hear Sophie Dahl begging for £500k on the Today programme the other morning, the monies to move her late grandfather's garden shed? The £500,000 will cover the cost of conserving the hut's contents and designing a space for it in the museum. The exterior of the 1950s brick structure will remain in the orchard but the interior will be moved. It has been left as it was when Dahl was alive, down to the screwed up manuscripts in the wastepaper basket and the cigarette butts in the ashtray.  I appreciate that Dahl was a national treasure, however, in between talks of dire austerity coming to meet us like the grim reaper and bailing out the damn Greeks, the timing from the multi-millionairess Sophie was very 'off'.  I was so furious I almost drove straight into the Thames from Battersea bridge incandescent with rage, although former Dahl flatmate Toby Young has written a piece to support her.  The back catalogue will now be know as: You're a right Charlie in a chocolate factory to pay for my shitty little shed and the Fantastic Mr Foxed-you good and proper.

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/celebrity/dahl-shed-plea-falls-like-a-brick-20110915-1kbxv.html#ixzz1YJzLkulm

Aside from above, 10 other things I read, did and encountered this week that may be of interest, or maybe you would prefer me to shut up and you can go back to reading your new Heat magazine:

1.  Here we go again, Downton Abbey Series 2 , written by the dear perennial snob Julian Fellowes;
2.  See you at Soho Lit Fest: http://www.soholitfest.com/
3.  Philip Hensher & Peregrine Worsthorne spate 'Are explicit sex scenes ok?' in this week's Spectator;
4.  Abba's 'Mamma Mia', the Mandarin version?!;
5.  Guessing who Simon Cowell's next girlfriend will be;
6.  The Lapada Art & Antiques Fair preview evening, see you at the Mortons champagne bar for the Rhubarb canapes;
7.  Fascinating reading of Kweku Adoboli, the new 'rogue trader' from UBS;
8.  Tickets ready to see Sylvie Guillem - 6000 miles away at Sadlers Wells next week;
9.  Must be the only person in London who hasn't yet been to see the new Westfield in Stratford, apparently amazing views of the Olympic village from the John Lewis furniture department;

10.  Wondering if my blog is creating its own Arab Spring judging by the fine number of visitors from the freedom craving countries.

The New Austerity, Ten Years on from 9/11 & Pedro Almodavar.

Hello everyone, did you think I'd fallen off the edge of a cliff?  or secretly hoped so? Not that I give a hoot of course.  It's been a very busy few months and whilst the blog has had a summer sabbatical, rather unfortunately I have not.  With changing jobs, getting the builders in and spending a fortune on Polly Morgan pieces of art, including some dead mouse that I loved from the surreal Brick Lane Art Car Boot Fair. I drag unsuspecting Sloanes to this fair every year and they never know what the hell has hit them so much so that refuge has to be taken in a pot of tea and a warm scone at Albion afterwards. 

Well it has been a full on few months, aside from two fantastic weeks in the South of France in the prettiest village in the world, just outside of St Tropez, which I am not going to tell you the name of just yet.  Certainly haven't been idle and whilst pen and paper at times were not forced upon you dear reader, a thousand blogs ran through my mind and the topics varying widly according to time and mood.  Life has been a little bit like the new Sarah Jessica Parker movie, I Don't Know How She Does It, although less saccharine and rather less lacklustre than the performance by all the guests, aside from the wonderfully foul mouthed Adele, on last night's average Jonathan Ross show on ITV1, bring back the old show, however, time will tell and hopefully characters will not keep dying off in time to appear on the show.

Since I wrote my last post, so many things have happened that have changed the world as we know it and we are edging, if not already 'in' the New Austerity.  The bankers are quiet for the time being, not quite understanding the impact that is ahead of them in the markets.  It seems that the whole of the developed western world is bankrupt and the developing world is forging ahead at a rate of noughts.  That's colonial karma for you.  I myself have started to embrace austerity.  Firstly, by going to Eight Over Eight for Saturday lunch which is offering 40% off.  It's a start.  The forever wonderful Lucien Freud died recently.  If only I had the courage to have spoken to him when I was 18 at the decadent ball held at Longleat.  When I turned around after escaping to one end of the quieter side of the tent to have five minutes quiet gossiping with my naughty friend Caroline, he was sitting staring at me with intent.  Me being naive and into daft looking young men at the time, I got scared and ran away.  I could've been gracing the Tate walls by now, made a fortune and everyone would've known the location of my secret mole.

The riots of August stopped London in its tracks for a few days and even David Cameron who loves a holiday had to race back from the Tuscan sunshine.  Nevertheless, at least he managed to end his summer in the rain in Cornwall, confident that he had tackled Gaddafi to the ground and being cocky of the fact that Britain had been one of the first to order strikes in Libya.  Luckily, this smugness was short lived, as live on air during the eversible Today programme on Radio 4, Evan Davis challenged the PM, comparing the rioters with the antics of D.C's beloved club The Bullingdon, captured in true violent and hotel smashing style in Laura Wade's play Posh at The Royal Court, which played last year and was an unmissable treat and would definitely see it again when it transfers to the West End at hopefully some point not too far in the future.  D.C. was momentarily put off his stride and we all smiled as we drove to work.

Since I last wrote, aside from the Duchess of Cambridge getting ever thinner, before she busts out with the baby bump, Ai Weiwei has been released from captivity and has been censored this week from the Chinese edition of Newsweek.  I am a turn of this year recent subscriber to Newsweek.  It was due to the fact that it has been taken over by the fabulous Tina Brown.  However, I find it rather interesting and well written and worth a gander, specially good footage on old sexpot DSK and old ginger nut Rebekah 'I'm not Murdoch's long lost daughter' Wade.  Poor old Ai has taken a literal beating and who knows what the future holds, although there was talk he was moving to Berlin to become a University lecturer.  Chinese censors have removed pages of Newsweek magazine containing an essay by Ai Weiwei in which the country's most famous dissenting artist slams the repressive environment in Beijing and criticises the police and the legal system. 

"Beijing is a nightmare. A constant nightmare," Mr Ai writes in the essay, that originally appeared on the Newsweek website and was then reprinted in the 5 September issue of the US magazine.  It has left many wondering what Mr Ai is planning to do now, as the article seems to fly in the face of his bail conditions, imposed on his release on 22 June after 81 days in custody for alleged tax evasion, and sets him on a collision course with the authorities.  Under the terms of his bail, he was required not to use social media, speak to foreign media or leave Beijing. Human rights activists believe the tax charges were trumped up to end to his online campaigns against the Communist Party.  He produced a very moving piece at the Tate Modern with the sunflowers seeds and an even more interesting short documentary on how a whole Chinese town was employed to create the seeds.  Even my mother who has little interest in contemporary art, aside from queing for hours in Bristol to see the Banksy exhibition found Mr Weiwei fascinating.

And so the footage of 9/11 is being revamped and re-reported on every channel now until Friday's big day.  I remember it well, having just stepped off a plain from Turkey very early that morning, and after having a nap at home, switching on the TV to wonder what the hell was going on.  I was also dumped the day after the disaster and managed to lose over half a stone that week with the distress, so I remember the disaster fully as I had experienced two in one week.  Granta has an amazing talk on Friday at The Frontline Club to discuss the impact of 9/11 ten years on.  Their new issue is dedicated to conjuring up the complexity and sorrow of life since the fateful day and the stories cover a street vendor in Tunisia, an American Marine going home and a signals operator on a North Korean fishing trawler.  If you want to be taken from the battlefields of Afghanistan to the streets of Mogadishu and Toronto, there could be worse books to read on the subject and worth supporting this ecletic publisher, http://www.granta.com/

During the last Bank Holiday of the Year until Christmas, I took myself off to the now passée climes of the Kings Road with friends to see Pedro Almodavar's, The Skin I Live In at the Curzon.  The best parts of the King's Road these days are of course Sloane Square itself and the run of shops opposite Peter Jones, also parts of the Duke of York's Square and of course John Sandoe's bookshop.  The road then turns into anywhere's ville, although the streets off that stretch of the King's Road are a great place to live and the properties charming.  The KR becomes interesting again when you reach the junction of Old Church Street and beyond and a real smartening up of the area is happening close to Beaufort Street with a new Triyoga centre opened up, although I don't want to kick my asanas with my clients and skid in each other's puddles of sweat from a hundred downward dogs.  As a half Spanish person, I can safely say without fear of being seen as a rude xenophobic, that La piel que habito was a load of Spanish surreal nonsense.   Antonio Banderas did look fantastic and played the part of the intense plastic surgeon very well.  There is a twist of course and I won't spoil it here, however, it lacks the humour of many of Almodavar's other films and is good rather than great.  Go see it, but be warned, give it the 4-5 stars that the newspapers have given the film, not so sure.  Yes he creates a monster, yes someone dies and yes, I did go in my gym kit.

Aside from above, 10 other things I read, did and encountered this week that may be of interest, or maybe you would prefer me to shut up and you can go back to reading your new Heat magazine:

1.  Tickets for Ruby Wax's performance of 'Losing It' next week, can't wait;
2.  Enjoying everyone's favourite alledged hypocrite Polly Toynbee: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b013qz77/The_Class_Ceiling_Episode_1/
3.  Jivamukti Yoga in Kensal Road, still my favourite way to exercise, even though the Evening Standard write up was somewhat dull and did not capture the spirit of the place, just look at Madonna looking amazing at Venice Film Festival to see that yoga works & keeps you young (as well as no office job & Botox of course);
4.  Loving the fact that Gadaffi's compound when raided, was found with an armful of the FT's weekend How to Spend It Magazines, well thumbed and obviously well read;
5.  Even better than the Wolseley, brunch at Hélène Darroze at The Connaught;
6.  Who knew that Dominic West could play such a convincing serial killer: Appropriate Adult - Fred West, starting this evening on ITV1;
7.  Loving Dr Choy in Wimpole Street, the only person so far that seems to have 'so-far' cured my asthma through allergy testing via vitamins & diet;
8.  Tickets already booked for The National Gallery's crush to death exhibition of Leonardo Da Vinci - Painter at The Court of Milan in November;
9.  Resisting going but must check it out - One New Change shopping centre next to St Paul's Cathedral.
10.  Bugger the winter, I hate it, Joseph coat or not.  Wish I could hang out at Club 55 all year round, dreaming about the dover sole and the hot guy on holiday with his mother!