Dangerous Liaisons at the V&A

Last night was very Dangerous Liaisons at the V&A. Never have I seen it so busy as they staged a sumptuous renaissance ball to celebrate their new Medieval and Renaissance galleries. Sadly the queues for the cloakroom, bar and workshops were horrendous. Still, it was fabulous watching people (and costumes) from the balcony. Here are some photos:

 

  

  

  

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Just seen the trailer for The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo film adaptation on Film 2010. It looks brilliant. Thank god the Swedes have filmed it before Hollywood does. The U.S. version is in pre-production apparently. What's the betting it'll be Nikita all over again? ie. take an amazing European psychological thriller (Luc Besson's Nikita) and remake it into an insubstantial action flick (like Point of No Return starring Bridget Fonda).

But I digress. Here's a longer version of the one just shown.

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I've got a feeling it might not be the official trailer because "definitely" is spelt "definately" (pet hate...grrr).

If you haven't yet read Stieg Larsson's Millenium trilogy of books which begins with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo then, as well as being in for a treat, you have until 12th March when the film opens in the UK.

No way José!

 

 

Which one of these pictures is the odd one out? The middle one and I'll tell you why in a minute.

Every year, for the past few years, I've marvelled at the skill, patience and imagination of the photographers chosen (out of 43,000 entries this year) for the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition.

So I stood open-mouthed half-way round the exhibition at the Natural History Museum yesterday. Not because a shot had floored me with its brilliance. But because there was a blank space where the overall winning photo should have been (the middle of the three above called The Storybook Wolf). With words saying the winning photographer José Luis Rodriguez has been disqualified because he was found to have used a model wolf. No way José!

After announcing The Storybook Wolf as the winner of the 2009 Wildlife photographer competition, it has had pride of place since the exhibition opened in October. Three months later, the judges decided this week that it is "very likely the wolf is a model". By that, they mean a trained wolf from a zoo as the BBC explain here.

Suspicion fell on the Spanish photographer late last year when wolf experts concluded that a wild wolf wouldn't jump a fence. It would squeeze through the gate's bars instead.

Rodriguez has been banned from the competition for life and presumably has had to hand his £10,000 prize money back. This is certainly the most dramatic event in the competition's 46 year history.

The question is, why on earth has this only come to light half way through the exhibition's run? Calendars, mugs, postcards have all been printed. It's so odd. Something very strange has gone on methinks.

Mugabe and the White African

Admiration, indignation, shocked, sad, upset. Just some of the feelings I  experienced on the bus on the way home from the ICA this evening. Mugabe and the White African is a feature length documentary about the ousting of white farmers from Zimabwe by President Robert Mugabe, shot over nine months. Yet it's so much more than that. It's an emotional and gripping story of a courageous man's fight to defend his farm, his family and the livelihood of 500 black workers and their families.

For eight years, elderly white farmer Mike Campbell, helped by his son-in-law Ben Freeth, has been battling  Mugabe's Land Reform programme. Mugabe has said this programme will give the land back to the "black peasants" but as the film shows, the farms are being reclaimed by corrupt officials, asset-stripped and left to go to waste. Mike Campbell doesn't want this to happen to his farm. In an unprecedented move he takes the President to an international court hearing in Namibia on charges of racism and violation of human rights. It's David versus a corrupt Goliath.

Much of the filming was done covertly with the crew sneaking equipment into a country in which they weren't allowed. We get a sense of the brutal violence and intimidation tactics wrought by the farm invaders in the name of Mugabe's government. It isn't pretty viewing.

Although filming was risky, it is beautifully shot and very cleverly edited to create suspense and tension. The dramatic original score emphasises the emotional impact on the family. You never feel that Mike and Ben are in any way pandering to the camera either. They just seem amazingly determined, passionate and genuine. It's no surprise that the film has received rave reviews in Empire and Time Out.

"It seems extraordinary in this day and age that as a global community we still have no means to stand up to a dictator who brutalizes and subjugates his people, both black and white, " say the film's directors Lucy Bailey and Andrew Thompson. "Concerning ourselves with such a situation, and informing ourselves about it, is the first crucial step towards ultimately seeing it addressed."

I really hope Mugabe and the White African gets a wider distribution. It's a heavyweight film concerning a serious issue but is never dry or boring. It is accessible, enthralling and hopeful of change. Of course the ones who would benefit most from seeing this remarkable documentary, can't. If only ordinary Zimbabwean people were able to feel empowered enough by this film to overthrow Mugabe, the world would be a less scary place.

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The run has completely sold out at the ICA but is screening at the Empire Leicester Square, Odeon Panton Street and The Tricycle Kilburn until Thursday 28th January. Followed by various venues around the UK and Ireland until it returns to London for one night only at Riverside Studios on 3rd March. Check the website for the screening schedule.

Blind men and black cats

If you want quirky and thoughtful modern art, the ICA always delivers. A huddle of teddy bears in a corner, thirty four small photographs of different types of strawberries, and a large structure built out of so many materials - from wood to wool - that it looks like it could be an entry in one of those mad-cap flying day competitions. Somehow all these random pieces are related too. By the longest exhibition title in the world.

"For the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat which isn't there" is the show's name. It's from a quote attributed to Charles Darwin. He was mocking the mathematician's inability to describe the physical world in anything but abstract terms. Taking that as its basis, the exhibition is dedicated to the playfulness of being in the dark. The not knowing. Anything goes basically, which sounds like fun.

As Alan, the smiley Scottish gallery assistant pointed out, the exhibition is what you think it is. How very ICA. Everyone sees something different depending on how curious and playful your approach, he told me. I, for instance, didn't notice the google map image embedded in the flying structure (unnamed by Dave Hullfish Bailey) until Alan drew my attention to it. While the heap of teddy bears shows how animals relate to each other.

Perhaps I wasn't feeling very playful as I'd just been drenched in ice cold rain. A visit to the ICA rarely disappoints though. Slightly baffled and bemused, I headed to the cool cafe (one of my favourites) for a cuppa. It may not be very abstract, but you know where you are with a cup of tea.

For the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat which isn't there is free and runs until Sunday 31 January at the Institute of Contemporary Arts.

My, What a Lovely Cervix!

A sequel to the Vagina Monologues? An off-beat adult musical staged in a disused church in Stoke Newington? What surreal arty happening am I banging on about now? Well, sometimes life is more important than art.

Men of a squeamish disposition, turn away now. Unless you know a female friend/partner/mother/sister who would like to know what to expect after you've had three abnormal smears. Yes, this is my first non-culture blog but even if only one woman's worries are eased, it's worth it.

I'm a worrier by nature (get it from my dad) so I immediately thought "cervical cancer" when I received my third consecutive abnormal smear result. Of course it doesn't mean any such thing but now we all know Jade Goody's story you can't help but think the worst. After all she was only 28 when she died.

So, a not-particularly-cheery-me was to be found in the waiting room of Chelsea and Westminster's gynaecology outpatient department on Tuesday afternoon. Well actually, that's not strictly true. Because the form I'd had to sign on arrival made me laugh. As a journalist I've signed some consent forms in my time but this one topped the lot. Would I agree to the capture of digital pictures of my cervix which would be reproduced elsewhere? Seems even cervixes have copyright issues these days. They'll have their own agents next. Cervix available for interview and photo shoot!

By the time I'd told my lovely friend (with me for moral support, bless) about this, my name was called. Lovely friend took out her tome of a book, preparing to bed in for what she thought would be a couple of hours. The leaflets give no indication of how long a colposcopy examination lasts. It was all over in twenty minutes and that included a biopsy.

It's funny how praise can make you relax. Gorgeous smile, amazing eyes, great bum....lovely cervix. Yes, the nice lady doctor actually uttered the words of the title (not the other compliments I hasten to add) once I was under the bright light and in focus on camera. And I was flattered. Clearly I don't get enough compliments.

I'd already been asked by the lively Brummie nurse if I wanted to see my cervix on the big screen (WTF? Why not give me some 3D glasses, Avatar-style, while you're at it!). But the flattery encouraged me to turn my head towards the monitor and bloody hell, there it was. Magnified a thousand times.  It was a massive pink plate with a tiny hole in the middle. Eurgh.

I've never been one for perving at inner organs. When a medical procedure is on the telly I switch over. During a childbirth video in biology class at school I fainted. But once I'd got over the shock it was rather fascinating. The cervix is a strong muscle and essentially stops the womb from falling out and other things (infections, sperm) getting in, so it was weird seeing a functional part of me.

I watched as the doctor stained it with iodine and lo....there was a white patch of abnormal cells. Tissue the size of a freckle was then snipped to be sent off to the lab. I'm not lying when I say it felt like nothing more than a small pinch. Being a complete wimp I'd already mentioned that I might need local anaesthetic if they took a biopsy, especially as it was the week before my period when you're most sensitive to pain. But I hardly noticed it. Perhaps helped by the two painkillers I'd taken an hour earlier (top tip).

I should know the result in two to six weeks. I'm hoping I only have CIN1 which is mildly abnormal cell change and often cures itself eventually. The worst result would be CIN3=cervical cancer. I'm putting it to the back of my head for now. Worry gets you nowhere.

So if you're dreading a colposcopy appointment, don't. Or if you need to make one but haven't yet, just book it. Now! I walked out grinning, happy that it was all over so quickly and practically pain-free. Try and plan a treat to look forward to afterwards. Lovely friend and I took ourselves off for coffee and cake on the King's Road. Yum.

Oh and please ask if you have any questions or worries and I'll try to answer them. It really isn't that bad.

Arty whores at the National Gallery

I've known there were whores at the National Gallery for ages but only got round to visiting them today. Seems plenty of eligible men also had the same idea and even better it didn't cost a penny.

Girls, if you want to spend a Sunday afternoon observing groups of gorgeous men in twos and threes (you know the sort - tall, well turned-out, bearded/stubble, probably designers) observing eleven mannequins dressed as prostitutes in a faux red-light district, then head to Trafalgar Square. I can only think that they're reliving a stag do. I'd like to think they're curious about the Amsterdam red-light district on which the installation is based, having never visited. In reality it could be a mixture of the two. And who am I to point a finger as I myself have wandered through said district out of curiosity many moons ago on a weekend trip to Amsterdam with friends.

The Hoerengracht (Whore's Canal in Dutch) took American husband and wife artists Ed and Nancy Kienholz five years to complete in the eighties.The National Gallery's curator has compared the installation with the Old Masters which surround it.

There's something surreal about ambling down the narrow, dimly lit brick alleys suffused with red and neon lights from dusty doorways and cracked windows, knowing priceless Caravaggios and Titians are only a room away. The abundant attention to detail from tatty red wallpaper with small white hearts to a discarded condom in a bin, creates a seedy, realistic atmosphere. As my friend noted, the scantily clad mannequins (cast from real women) look like they're just about to turn round or look up to catch your eye.

I think this installation is a brave move for a traditional gallery. Especially if it encourages people to visit who might otherwise have headed to Tate Modern or somewhere else they consider less stuffy.

The Hoerengracht runs at the National Gallery until Sunday 21st February.

Wun Wossy Wun

Happy New Year!

Two weeks since my last blog and my fingers are jittery with blogging cold turkey. I've done nowt cultural since the festive period (I don't think munching on pork scratchings down the pub on New Year's Day counts - you can take the girl out of the north etc). And I don't want this blog to be banal bletherings about what I ate for breakfast. I'd like it to be entertaining and informative and focused on all things poppy, arty and music-y (I could write about my dating disasters for instance but they're so numerous that I would end up blogging only about dating).


So, back to the entertainment news of the day. Jonathan Ross is now touting himself about for business (join the club) having left/lost his £16.9m BBC contract. Poor Graham Norton has taken a £1m pay cut to stay on (times are tough). And über-film critic Mark Kermode (if you've never heard his ace film reviews on 5 Live then download his podcasts here) is rumoured to be taking over Film 2010/11. Hooray!

As an ex-Beeb journo I came across both Wossy and our Graham due to the nature of my job. Graham Norton is as delightful and funny off-screen as he is on. But then the magazine I worked for were paying him an absolute fortune (five figures) to host their posh annual celebrity event so he was hardly going to tell us to F-off backstage. Funnily enough Ross had hosted the very same event a couple of years earlier but was deemed to be too expensive and not enough value for money. Funny that.

And when Ross threw his toys out of the pram a few years ago (well, sent a narky email to the editor of said well known national magazine) because Terry Wogan was on the esteemed cover for a radio feature in which they both took part, well that was it. No one was bigger than The Togmeister on radio. Wossy's reputation was going downhill in media publishing circles. And that was before the Andrew Sachs/Russell Brand debacle.

There was the feeling in the BBC and the wider industry that he was getting too big for his boots (fuelled by his "I'm worth more than 1,000 BBC journalists" comment). Sachsgate was seen as his comeuppance. And we all know how the British media like to bring those in the public eye down. The higher the climb, the greater the fall.

It appears his final comeuppance is losing his £17m contract. Having been to recordings of his chat show I've seen what a professional, funny and talented broadcaster he is. Ross rarely needs to retake interviews unlike many other chat shows where you leave with red-raw hands from so much over-clapping. While his banter and wit were consistently excellent on Saturday mornings on Radio 2 (his show was so much funnier than Russell Brand's ever was).

It's a shame Ross occasionally lets his ego get the better of him. Let's hope he's now humbled and bounces back - à la the excellent Chris Evans - perhaps on a more suitably risk-taking channel like C4, where his career began. And the man's an entertaining tweeter too.