Posts Tagged ‘Bertolt Brecht’

Zero Books launch in Marylebone High Street

Friday, April 24th, 2009

Zero Books launched last night at Daunt on Marylebone High Street in central London. Upon arrival I was greeted by Zero editor Tariq Goddard. I hadn’t realised he’d moved out of London, but then I hadn’t seen him around for a while, so I wasn’t too surprised when he told me he was living in the country. Shortly after arrival I found myself chatting to sci-fi novelist China Miéville who brought up the extremely ugly subject of David Tibet (real name David Bunting) of Current 93 and his utterly ridiculous sub-musical collaborations with hardcore fascists. Our anti-fascist exchange was interrupted when the evening’s formal speeches began. I didn’t catch the name of the first speaker who was passionate on the subject of how neo-liberalism had collapsed but we still needed to clear away the ruins.

Next up was journalist David Stubbs who gave a short talk based on his book Fear Of Music. The blurb for this runs as follows: “Modern art is a mass phenomenon… However, while the general public has no trouble embracing avant-garde and experimental art, there is, by contrast, mass resistance to avant-garde and experimental music, although both were born at the same time under similar circumstances… This book examines the parallel histories of modern art and modern music and examines why one is embraced and understood and the other ignored, derided or regarded with bewilderment, as noisy, random nonsense perpetrated by, and listened to by the inexplicably crazed. It draws on interviews and often highly amusing anecdotal evidence in order to find answers to the question: Why do people get Rothko and not Stockhausen?”

My impression is the tabloid press devotes more space to deriding modern art than it does to attacking modern music. That said, the (post)-modern art the ‘red tops’ have derided in  recent years is largely a waste of space anyway; i.e. the yBa bores who put the con back into neo-conceptual art by jettisoning any overt political content and instead concentrating on selling over-priced luxury items to the rich. As a consequence, it has been rather amusing to witness the response of complete bafflement to the Ray Johnson retrospective currently on at Raven Row; most of the London art world simply cannot grasp a visual practice that is so obviously hostile to the commodification of culture. As for Rothko and Stockhausen, for me there is nothing to choose between them, and the bourgeoisie can stick them both up its arse!

In his talk Stubbs appeared to be defending everything about Stockhausen, which I found more than a little odd. There have certainly been reactionary attacks on Stockhausen, but by focusing on these Stubbs seemed to be saying sock it to the critics to my right and ignore my own problematic positions. Personally I agree with the critique of Stockhausen made by Henry Flynt and Action Against Cultural Imperialism back in the 1960s; among other things they pointed out that Stockhausen’s criticisms of jazz were racist. I also find Flynt’s radical avant-garde hillbilly far more of a groove sensation than Stockhausen. And while I can dig much of what Cornelius Cardew did musically from the Scratch Orchestra through to his reworkings of folk melodies, his book Stockhausen Serves Imperialism lacks the edge of Flynt’s critique of this bourgeois hack. I have no problem with listening to modern music, but everything from Luigi Nono to grime is just so much better than Stockhausen. The positions Stubbs defended in his talk were both simplistic and wrong-headed.

As a speaker, Owen Hatherley was a lot more impressive than Stubbs. His book Militant Modernism was billed as a defence of modernism against its defenders. Hatherley was arguing in favour of post-war modernism, not just its early twentieth-century manifestations, and for its entanglement with revolutionary politics. I was with him on that, although I suspect we may well have differences on specific figures such as Bertolt Brecht and what is revolutionary. For me, defending the gains of modernism also means going beyond it, and this necessitates abolishing the capitalist social relations modernism emerged from. Of course, I haven’t read Hatherley’s book yet, because as a proletarian post-modernist, I’m blogging the launch and not the texts. Moving on, after Hatherley there was a quick word from publisher John Hunt. I then spoke to Hales Gallery artists Laura Oldfield Ford and Richard Galpin about the antagonism towards criticism on the gallery circuit. In the spirit of immaterial friendship I got to say hi and little else to Nina Power… and a few others. Then the booze ran out so most people moved on to the pub….

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Keith Singleton’s “The Dummy” failing to slay cinema audiences due to a straight to DVD release

Tuesday, April 7th, 2009

This 9 year-old film is a real shocker due to the dreadful cinematography and acting rather than the gore epiphanies it singularly lacks. Only a movie that was directed and produced by its main actor could have a lead this ugly! And when I say ugly I mean hideous! Keith Singleton as Paul Chandler will make horny masochists everywhere very happy, and turn the rest of us off big time. This flick was first released in 2000 and looks like it was made on no budget, but it uses James and Bobby Purify’s I’m Your Puppet on the soundtrack and credits it to Arista Records, so presumably the tune was paid for and it can’t have been cheap!

Mac The Knife is also used on the soundtrack but doesn’t appear in the credits at the end, which made me wonder if something ‘naughty’ was going on here. Since I consider Bertolt ‘Bird Brain’ Brecht who wrote the original German language lyrics a bourgeois pig whose communist credentials are every bit as fake as those of Lenin or Stalin, and I don’t dig the cultural output of the tune’s composer Kurt Weill either, I’ve never paid a lot of attention to the many versions of this song. On a single viewing I couldn’t identify the singer used on the snatch of Mac The Knife deployed during a dummy point-of view murder sequence. It wasn’t Ella Fitzgerald or Marianne Faithfull, but it could have been Bobby Darin, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Nick Cave… or someone else.

Returning to the movie, given that it is really really really bad – and I’m talking bad meaning bad here, NOT bad meaning good – a small minority of viewers will get a cheap laugh from the fact that it was the English language debut of leading Finnish actress Irina Björklund. She plays Donna Jordan, girlfriend to the stupendously putrid ventriloquist lead of writer/producer/director Keith Singleton. Björklund even gets her kit off for a ‘steamy’ sex scene with Singleton, but fortunately the director lies flat on his back for this and so we aren’t tortured with so much as a glimpse of his half-inch of ‘manhood’. This being a US movie, the nudity and softcore is strictly tits and ass, no genitals here!

Singleton seems to have assembled his plot from a generic selection of earlier evil doll and slasher films. His lead character Paul Chandler had been looked in an asylum as a child for murdering his parents but 20 years later  is let loose so that he can become a productive member of society. It is probably superfluous to add that his doctor is a ninny who has freed a psychopath.  At the Madhouse Comedy Club the overwhelming majority of the audience love Chandler’s act with his ventriloquist dummy Tommy, but a local radio critic slates it, and before you can say ‘got a gottle of gear’ is ‘brutally’ murdered with a poison voodoo dart! Likewise, Madhouse waitress Lisa (played by Alexis Weimer) makes the mistake of attempting to touch Tommy up and yes, you guessed it, winds-up dead! Chandler, of course, blames the murders on Tommy: “Couldn’t have been me bud, I’m just a regular nice guy who suffers from blackouts and takes the rap for the shit pulled by my evil toys!”

Nubile psychiatrist  Ann Meyers (daughter of the do-gooder shrink who let Keith Singleton make this movie, erm,  I mean allowed Paul Chandler out of the asylum) befriends the schizo-ventriloquist. After a confrontation with Chandler about the case notes she’s been making about him, Ann decides to take a bath, and this allows Singleton to undermine two audience expectations. Firstly, many viewers will assume they’re about to  see Jocelyne Lopez’s boobies  (she’s billed here as Jocelyn Dondeville) but somehow her white-bits elude us. I presume this is because Lopez refused to flash her tits on camera without additional payment, and quite right too! I very much doubt that a highlight like that – don’t forget kids, this is a really really boring movie – accounts for even a second of the seven minute shorter running time of the UK version, as against the US original. That said, Film 2000 who released what was originally a 90 minute movie could have improved it even more by shaving a full hour and a half from its length. Returning to Singleton’s assault on slasher movie conventions, I was expecting Lopez to be murdered in the bath, but instead she gets out of it and puts on a gown before being slayed. Presumably turning the foamy water red fell way beyond both the budget and technical capabilities of the special effects team working on this movie.

For much of the flick we hear Tommy’s voice but see only the trunk in which he’s frequently put away. However, at the climax Singleton gets a little confused over whether Tommy or Björklund is the great love of his life. As a result, Singleton wrestles with his dummy and is completely out-classed in the acting stakes by this inanimate lump of wood. Tommy is also a lot better looking than the lead actor/writer/director/producer who is freakin’ ugly. But fear not, in the end true love wins out and Singleton attempts to strangle Björklund, who finally sorts out the ugly fuck by running him through with a spear. The effect is poorly achieved but at least the audience can sleep soundly knowing that Björklund won’t have to simulate shagging Singleton a second time; unless, like me, you suffer from a morbid imagination, and are immediately dreading The Dummy II: Irina Björklund, The Necro Babe. To sum up, Singleton’s crummy film is the ultimate snore fest, it makes the Mark Jones movie also called Dummy covered in this blog on 26 March 2009 look like Citizen Kane.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!