Recent Articles
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2016
Friday, October 28, 2016
- 0 Comments
It's 2004 and I am stoned. While dazed on the sofa a friend pulls out a USB memory stick and tells me he's got this awesome new comedy I've got to check out. "What is it?" I ask. "It's a Canadian comedy show about a bunch of crazy assholes living in a trailer park". My expectations were pretty low, but then he put on the grainy, pirated divx and I began to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh.
I'm still laughing to this day (though not continuously since 2004, that would be horrible). In the interim Trailer Park Boys has gone from strength to strength; evolving from its early days as a black and white indie movie to underground stoner hit to mainstream success (they're even funded by the Canadian Government). Season 11 of the show is due to air on Netflix in March 2017, a miniseries Out of the Park: Europe is released on Netflix today and they're soon to visit the UK with their live show Dear Santa Claus: Go Fuck Yourself.
The boys famously blur the line between fiction and reality, so I yesterday found myself having the surreal experience of chatting to Julian, Ricky and Bubbles - three guys I've spent countless happy hours with.
I asked them why they were coming to this grey and miserable island. Julian responded: "We're just coming here to have a good time, spread some festive cheer and say hi to all our British fans again. We've been London recently for Out of the Park - we got to hang out with Noel Fielding and have a look around Buckingham Palace." Given the chaos that generally follows Ricky and Julian around I ask if anything went on with palace security - the three mumble something mysterious about a stolen pair of Princes Charles' underpants and Bubbles "remembers that crazy guy who broke into the Palace and sat on the Queen's bed."
"Are there any other British celebrities you'd have liked to have worked with but didn't?" Julian quickly replies "we'd have loved to work with Ricky Gervais...". Ricky interjects with an excited "We did get to hang with Sebastian Bach (Canadian metal icon) in Amsterdam!"
I ask them if there's anywhere they didn't enjoy. Ricky: "Nobody understood anything about us in Germany. Maybe it's because they don't speak good English. It was fucking weird."
I ask them if there's anywhere they didn't enjoy. Ricky: "Nobody understood anything about us in Germany. Maybe it's because they don't speak good English. It was fucking weird."
"So what is 'Dear Santa Claus, Go Fuck Yourself?'. Julian replies, "well, its our way of apologising to Santa for the things we've said about him". I can't help but point out that telling him to "go fuck himself" doesn't sound like too much of an apology, but Bubbles interjects "No, no it's me telling Santa to go fuck himself..." I guess, given that Santa in the show is the soused and villainous Mr Lahey (assisted by his elf helper, rotund cheeseburger devourer Randy) I can't blame him.
I put to them a quote from a review of their live show in California: "the night appeared to be a scam to sell $10 cheeseburgers to stoners, I estimate Julian pulled in $1,500 on stage". Julian angrily responds, "It wasn't a scam! Those people got their cheeseburgers!" He points out that anyone attending the London or Manchester shows can buy a cheeseburger too, as long as they "come with a pocket of cash. I don't take cards."
Given the boys post behaviour and history, I can't help but wonder whether there's some bigger caper going on under the hood. I point out to them that 'luxury Canadian weed', (legally grown stuff smuggled from across the Atlantic) sells at the astonishing premium of $150CDN an ounce on the London street. They seem surprised, but suspiciously, not too surprised. Even so, there's an obvious confidence in their own horticultural skills - even though the market has been blown wide open by marijuana legislation in Canada, Ricky and Julian confidently assert "well our weed is way better than whatever they can grow, so we're not too worried".
So what next for their travels? I point out that the Middle East could definitely do with some Sunnyvale Trailer Park style good times (though probably less of the random shootings). Julian responds: "Well... they do have loads of good hash over there..."
Dear Santa Claus, Go Fuck Yourself is at the Apollo London on 9th Dec and Manchester o2 on 11th Dec. Tickets available here. Out of the Park: Europe is on Netflix now.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Friday, August 12, 2016
- 0 Comments
Long time readers will know that I'm long-standing fan of felt-based artist Lucy Sparrow. I first met her in 2013 at an art street party outside my house in London, where her felt portrait of Rose West was being greeted with suspicion and mild hostility. I thought it (and her) were neat. I was soon joined in my appreciation by the rest of London.
In the intervening years her profile has risen considerably; from her hugely popular felt cornershop in 2014 to what I consider her magnum opus to date, 2015's dazzling Madame Roxy's Erotic Emporium felt sex shop. Now she's set to break America; her next project a recreation of a classic American convenience store in felt 'Eight Till Late', located right in the beating heart of New York City. And all it takes to bring this to life is a couple of quid thrown into a Kickstarter pot (with very neat backer rewards).
I asked her a couple of questions about the project:
How are you not sick of felt by now? How is your relationship to the material developing over time?
"Definitely not sick of it. The art is getting more in depth over time - I might be more obsessed with it than before!"
What are the differences between American convenience stories and UK corner shops that've you've noticed while researching?
"American convenience stores sell more fresh foods. They're also a lot more disorganised and there's more oddities in the stock on offer. I think convenience stores are what our cornershops used to be before they were replaced by mini supermarkets. But I might just be looking at the differences this way as a newbie to American stores. But in a lot of ways they are pretty similar, in the way they are cornerstones of the community."
Are there any pop culture US convenience stores that lodge in the mind - I always think of The Simpsons Kwik-E-Mart or Clerks' Quick Stop.
Definitely influenced by Clerks and also Ghost World. The same rite of passage in America exists in the UK. Popping to the convenience store for your mum or dad to top up the cupboard, or getting your first job there. The first sniff of freedom either in the form of going out alone or having your own money to spend by stocking shelves.
How's location hunting in New York compared to London? Do the New Yorkers you've spoken to 'get' the project?
"They totally get it, probably more so than the UK before the Cornershop was open. The Americans have more of an idea what it is about I think because the convenience store is still a big fixture in US daily life than the corner shop is over here. Their supermarkets are a lot more spread out than ours we have Tesco Metros and the like on almost every corner whereas small supermarkets aren't really a thing over there.
As for the location hunting I have a lot more help this time. We are using a company because of the space and the fact it is a much bigger undertaking."
Given that you've been on the road a bit lately, have you had any interesting reactions to the work from people of various nationalities?
"I had some interesting reactions from the Canadians in Montreal when I took the sex shop over there. They really embraced the concept. Montreal is a very open minded city and it was the best possible location for it, outside of London. And when I went to Basel, ArtBasel was on. It's probably the most prestigious art fair, so it was good to get recognition and comments from critics."
Finally. If space, time and money were no object, what felt based installation would you create?
"Probably an entire felt spaceship, maybe a replica of Apollo 11. Or a whole space-station or an aeroplane! My mind is already wandering into all the possibilities..."
If you think 'Eight Till Late' sounds awesome (and come on, it totally does) then please contribute to the Kickstarter. My only regret is that I (probably) won't be able to make the trip over. Then again who knows? I've always wanted to do a very special New York City Nights...
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Thursday, December 24, 2015
- 0 Comments
"I like melancholy because it's a choice. It's not like depression. You can choose to be melancholy" says David George, whose new book, Hackney by Night, is a guided tour of a dreaming city.
From the hulking corpses of industry to serenely flowing canals to verdant parks, David George’s Hackney By Night captures a timeless, abandoned and eerie urban landscape, unfamiliar even to long-term residents. His photographs are accompanied by a short story by Karen Falconer: cryptic fragments of text that add equal doses of context and mystery."
Monday, October 19, 2015
Monday, October 19, 2015
- 0 Comments
"“Disgusting”. “Perverted.” “The British Judiciary should hold him accountable for what he’s doing.”
These are just a handful of reactions to Dougie Wallace’s new body of work: Harrodsburg.
Lauded for his documenting of the puke-tinged hedonism of Blackpool in Stags, Hens & Bunnies, the “total fucking chaos” of Shoreditch Wild Life and the Bombay cab driver portraits Road Wallah, Harrodsburg finds Wallace on the hunt for richer prey.
For Harrodsburg, Wallace prowled the pavements of London’s richest post-codes, flash and camera primed, waiting for a suitable subject. When he spots one, he approaches, snaps a quick close-up and is gone before they’ve had time to process what’s happened."
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
- 0 Comments
My interview with renowned German fashion photographer Werner Pawlok for the British Journal of Photography:
"Werner Pawlok’s Cuba is curiously melancholy. Though his interiors pop with primary colours, golden sunlight and the scuffmarks of generations, they’re all infused with gentle sadness.Click here for the full article at BJP-Online.
Life in Cuba is changing: as the country’s relationship with the United States begins to normalise, decades of economic restrictions are beginning to ease. Now Pawlok, who’s been photographing the country since 2004, has returned for a new series of photographs exclusively for LUMAS gallery, Mayfair, London, in advance of the exhibition Viva Cuba!, opening this September."
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
- 0 Comments
Today, something of a change of pace: a peek behind the stage curtain of theatre blogging/arts reviewing.
A fortnight ago I was invited to join a referral programme that would involve a link to purchase tickets being placed on my review. The offer explained that I would get 10% commission on any tickets purchased through the link. Considering that West End ticket prices run from about £50-£100 (and that's a conservative estimate) this isn't small change.
Admittedly, the notion of squeezing some money out this website is tempting. After all, in these trying times I'd be mad to say no to a couple more pieces of silver jingling about in my pocket. But I did say no. My instinctive reaction was suspicion that binding my critical judgment to my bank balance was a bad move.
So when asked if I wanted to chat about this service I figured why not. Promoting it is Chris Hislop, an experienced arts PR man who I know pretty well. I always look forward to his press invites as he has a pretty great track record, sending me invites to interesting and challenging fringe theatre; recently Hamlet at the Cockpit Theatre, Marching on Together at the Old Red Lion and Dante's Inferno at the Rag Factory.
I met him on the South Bank last Friday to discuss this new reward scheme. My objectives were to discover where the money paid to reviewers was going to come from, what the long-term goals of the project are and whether it affects the integrity of critics to be paid a slice of ticket revenue.
As for the first question, Chris led me through what he described as a "murky, murky world" of interactions between theatre box offices, production companies and various ticket resellers. He explained that London ticketing is based around which reseller has the cheapest ticket at the time. The tickets themselves are worth whatever they're worth at the point of origin, from there they can be sold or given to an external box office (e.g. the TKTS booth in Leicester Square). If they're sold the reseller will keep the profits, if they're given the theatre will take a slice of the sale. As described the system is "very much like stocks and shares".
 |
| Front page of Reward Theatre |
Murky indeed, and a iceberg I'm glad I only see the very tip of. As I see it, in the theatre rewards system, bloggers would become passive agents for the ticket resellers. I can't imagine that the company running the service are buying tickets in bulk, so I assume they are running an external box office that buys from theatres on a per ticket basis, with the individual blogger being paid a slice of their profits. This laid to rest at least one of my worries: that I'd be siphoning off money that should go to struggling companies trying to break even.
As to the second question on the company's ambitions for the service, Chris claims there are none and no volume projections for how many tickets are to be sold via these links. The company running it apparently have no ambitions for what they want to achieve, Chris merely being hired as PR for the service to get the word out to bloggers about it and test the waters. Given that this service is apparently up and running, I find it unlikely there's not some future strategy involved. Annual London theatre box office receipts run to about half a billion pounds, a lucrative pie that any self-respecting events company should want to stick a finger into. These press links are one way in - essentially piggybacking on the reputation of theatre blogs and websites.
But it's the "selling out" factor that sticks in my throat. Prime among my concerns is that this service gives theatre reviewers a financial incentive to give positive reviews (and that most bloggers have no "Chinese wall" between advertising and editorial). After all, if you're getting paid based on the amount of tickets sold via the link, it logically would be in my interest to exalt how amazing these plays are and that you should absolutely - definitely - attend. Even if I was scrupulously honest about keeping my bias at a distance there's still (in my eyes at least), the suspicion of corruption. My nightmare scenario is me giving a panning to a crap show, then the director angrily pointing out that if he'd been part of the affiliate service maybe he'd have gotten a more positive review.
How could I counter that accusation? Ask them to trust in me that I'm not biased? In my experience, if someone says "I know this opens up the possibility of a conflict of interest, but I can assure you that I am a good person and wouldn't take advantage" I don't believe them even if they believe it themselves.
I put this to Chris, who countered by explaining that, contrary to expectations, positive reviews "make no difference" in putting bums on seats. He explains that "all PR is good PR", what matters is volume of press, which leads to general public awareness of a show. An acidic pan might make a clanging disaster of a show sound so intriguing that rubbernecking audiences flock in (as Viva Forever! clumsily attempted). This is a slightly dispiriting revelation - I'd always liked to imagine my rave reviews were driving up audience figures. Not so:
"It doesn't matter what the coverage is, coverage of any kind will sell more tickets. So no, I don't think there is a problem in terms of conflict of interest because I don't think the star rating of a review affects the amount of tickets that will be sold".
Corralling press with the intention of steering the public towards a show is Chris' bread and butter, so I take him on his word on this. But he's on shakier ground when he makes the argument that because every review is influenced by factors that go unmentioned in the review, what does it matter if money happens to be one of them?
It's here that he and I differ. For example, Chris doesn't see a problem with a critic not declaring personal connections to a show in a review: "I don't know. I don't want to know". I ask if he thinks there is a critic's 'code of ethics'. He explains that "any code of ethics is subject to mutability". I disagree: willingness to bend your ethics depending on the situation is a pretty good indication that you weren't particularly ethical to begin with.
Maybe I just listened to a few too many Bill Hicks cassettes as a teenager, but I can't help but see money as a corrupting influence in art. I explain this and Chris responds that "by that fashion, not only does money corrupt, but relationships corrupt, humanity corrupts. Are there shows you've reviewed badly because you've been in a bad mood that day?" There aren't, and I say so. "Of course there are. Have you reviewed well because you had a nice drink and a good time?" Again, no - but if I had a good time because of a show that'd be the review. (I understand the slight hypocrisy in asking you to take my word on this).
I guess it boils down to differing perspectives. As I perceive it Chris approaches reviews from a utilitarian perspective, evaluating them by their usefulness to a press campaign and the metric of whether they can contribute to shifting tickets. So, if you view reviews as an impartial, targeted advertisement, connecting the ticket buying mechanism directly to the review is a no-brainer - if a review is shifting tickets it has fulfilled its function.
My perspective is a bit more high-falutin'. Even if a review gets audiences to see something, that's secondary to the primary purpose, an intellectual and emotional response to a piece of art. This is what makes a review better than an advert; it's best performed through actual honesty rather than for commercial gain.
 |
| Chris Hislop |
As I see it, putting a link that gives me a commission per ticket sold creates a tiny amount of distrust between critic and audience that no amount of reassurance can get rid of. I could tell you that I'll review things exactly the same way. I could even tell myself that's what's going to happen. But what happens if one month I have less money than I need? Even if I take Chris' word that the tone of reviews makes no difference to sales the temptation is still there to skew reviews towards positivity. How can you ever know know that I'm not doing exactly that at any point?
All you'd have is my word and only a fool takes someone on the internet at their word. Even if my reviews were all genuine they'd come with a seed of doubt. Maybe some critics can deal with that - I don't want to. I prize my integrity and independence - and understand that they're fragile assets that once sacrificed, can never truly be regained.
Perhaps I'm being wilfully precious about all this. I've got a decently sized (though not mindblowingly huge) audience, and I have no idea if you'd notice or even care if I signed up to the ticket commission service. Maybe, if you approach it from a certain angle, it is indeed morally permissible for a critic to get a slice of a ticket sale. Perhaps a year from now every other London theatre blogger will have signed up to it and be rolling in that sweet commission dough, leaving me poor and envious.
But I'd feel like I'd sold out, and that's what's important.
Did I make the right decision? Am I overthinking things? Let me know in the comments below:
Monday, November 17, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
- 0 Comments
The best metric of fame is that people immediately know who you're talking about just from a mention of their first name. Mention Michael, Diana or Brad and people just know. There are few people this applies more to than Arnold 'Arnie' Schwarzenegger. From the deserts of Afghanistan to the jungles of Zambia you say "Arnold" and you'll get a swathe of cod-Austrian voices saying: "I'll be back!" or "Hasta la Vista, baby".
And now I'm in a couple of feet away from him. This is An Evening with Arnold Schwarzenegger, which fell somewhere between motivational lecture, bodybuilding convention and religious fervour. Devised by Rocco Buonvino, who has previously presented evenings with Al Pacino, Sylvester Stallone and John Travolta, the evening consisted of an hour's chat with compere Jonathan Ross and a Q&A from the crowd.
Even before Arnie shows up the (mostly male) crowd is whipped up into an adoring fever. There's a perceptible buzz in the air as the crowd collectively leans forward in their seats, craning their neck to try and get their first glimpse of the big man himself. After a few false starts he strides in and everyone goes bananas. The entire room leaps to their feet in paroxysms of joy; a bearded bald man sitting in front of me is weeping and people begin waving pictures of muscle men in the air like illuminated icons.
And what of the man himself? Even at 67 he's gigantic. His enormous skull looks like something you'd find bolted onto a piece of construction machinery, his fingers sausage thick, his shimmeringly white grin vaguely predatory. Even his watch is enormous (and no doubt costs more than I make in a year). This all adds up to a man than has something of the dinosaur to him; his extreme confidence, leathery hide, thumping frame and roaring laugh bringing him about as close as you can get to a humanoid Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Though Jonathan Ross is no doubt being handsomely compensated, Schwarzenegger is so chatty this must be one of the easiest paycheques he's has picked up for a while. From just one question, Schwarzenegger launches into a twenty minute spiel that covers his childhood, bodybuilding career and gets as far as starring in Terminator before he's told to slow down. There's a sense that these well-worn anecdotes have been doled out at California dinner parties, awards ceremonies and campaign fundraisers for the last twenty or thirty years.
But then Schwarzenegger on autopilot is still pretty fun. He works himself up into a mild frenzy, fiercely gesticulating with those butcher's shop window hands and staring around the large room and trying to give the room their money's worth. Everyone eats it up; the crowd breaking into spontaneous fits of frenzied applause at the slightest triumphal statement from Schwarzenegger.
And, to be fair, his life is genuinely inspirational. It's easy to take it for granted in retrospect, but for a kid to grow up in postwar Austria to climb to the top of the bodybuilding world takes some serious drive and ambition. Then for that bodybuilder (with an iffy grasp of English) to become Hollywood's top grossing star in an era where skinny, fast-talking men like Dustin Hoffman were sex symbols, with an unpronounceable name like Schwarzenegger? Oh yeah, and then after becoming famous for primarily playing a murderous robot to go and spend eight years as Governor of California, the eighth largest economy in the world?
It's a literal rags to riches story and is far from boring. This tale provides the bedrock of Arnie's staunch, instinctive Conservatism; his position that if he can drag himself up from poverty by sheer force of will alone why can't everyone? He peppers his tale with fortune-cookie aphorisms; "The difference between winners and losers is that losers don't get up when they fall down!" or "Pick a vision and don't let anyone tell you that you can't achieve it!".
It's easy to get caught up in these go-getterish American Dreamisms, but there's a brief moment where they're exposed as symptoms of selfishness. In an early anecdote he recalls his Dad criticising him for spending so much time working out. He tells the young Arnie; why don't you chop wood and deliver it to people's houses rather than pumping iron in a gym? Arnie guffaws; from his point of view his Dad never 'got it'. But why not deliver wood? He later talks a lot about the importance of public service in his life, but it's all too easy to see his public and charity work as part of him climbing to the next rung on an apparently infinite ladder.
Thing is, he's so charismatic that I actually feel a little guilty criticising him like that,. He's surprisingly ready to talk about his failures as well as successes; notably chatty about how he knocked up his maid, fathered an illegitimate child and was divorced by his wife. Even so, you get the impression that the goofy, happy, guffawing Arnie is a useful role, and that lurking just under the surface is a man who's ruthlessly, perhaps even pathologically, driven to succeed at all costs.
Perhaps this is why he plays such a riveting Terminator: "He can't be bargained with. he can't be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And he absolutely will not stop, ever."
It was a hell of an interesting night and despite my best efforts I got a little bit caught up in the excitement of being in the midst of genuine celebrity. That said I would have felt a little cooler about the experience had I paid to to be there (the cheapest tickets were £126.50, and should you want to shake Arnie's hand and get a photo you'd have to stump up a jaw-dropping £2,100), especially as there were some extremely restricted views in the huge room.
Arnie is a die-hard combative Republican who cheats on his wife and stars in boneheadedly gory action films. Logically I should hate his guts, but I can't. It's vexing.
And what of the man himself? Even at 67 he's gigantic. His enormous skull looks like something you'd find bolted onto a piece of construction machinery, his fingers sausage thick, his shimmeringly white grin vaguely predatory. Even his watch is enormous (and no doubt costs more than I make in a year). This all adds up to a man than has something of the dinosaur to him; his extreme confidence, leathery hide, thumping frame and roaring laugh bringing him about as close as you can get to a humanoid Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Though Jonathan Ross is no doubt being handsomely compensated, Schwarzenegger is so chatty this must be one of the easiest paycheques he's has picked up for a while. From just one question, Schwarzenegger launches into a twenty minute spiel that covers his childhood, bodybuilding career and gets as far as starring in Terminator before he's told to slow down. There's a sense that these well-worn anecdotes have been doled out at California dinner parties, awards ceremonies and campaign fundraisers for the last twenty or thirty years.
But then Schwarzenegger on autopilot is still pretty fun. He works himself up into a mild frenzy, fiercely gesticulating with those butcher's shop window hands and staring around the large room and trying to give the room their money's worth. Everyone eats it up; the crowd breaking into spontaneous fits of frenzied applause at the slightest triumphal statement from Schwarzenegger.
And, to be fair, his life is genuinely inspirational. It's easy to take it for granted in retrospect, but for a kid to grow up in postwar Austria to climb to the top of the bodybuilding world takes some serious drive and ambition. Then for that bodybuilder (with an iffy grasp of English) to become Hollywood's top grossing star in an era where skinny, fast-talking men like Dustin Hoffman were sex symbols, with an unpronounceable name like Schwarzenegger? Oh yeah, and then after becoming famous for primarily playing a murderous robot to go and spend eight years as Governor of California, the eighth largest economy in the world?
It's a literal rags to riches story and is far from boring. This tale provides the bedrock of Arnie's staunch, instinctive Conservatism; his position that if he can drag himself up from poverty by sheer force of will alone why can't everyone? He peppers his tale with fortune-cookie aphorisms; "The difference between winners and losers is that losers don't get up when they fall down!" or "Pick a vision and don't let anyone tell you that you can't achieve it!".
It's easy to get caught up in these go-getterish American Dreamisms, but there's a brief moment where they're exposed as symptoms of selfishness. In an early anecdote he recalls his Dad criticising him for spending so much time working out. He tells the young Arnie; why don't you chop wood and deliver it to people's houses rather than pumping iron in a gym? Arnie guffaws; from his point of view his Dad never 'got it'. But why not deliver wood? He later talks a lot about the importance of public service in his life, but it's all too easy to see his public and charity work as part of him climbing to the next rung on an apparently infinite ladder.
Thing is, he's so charismatic that I actually feel a little guilty criticising him like that,. He's surprisingly ready to talk about his failures as well as successes; notably chatty about how he knocked up his maid, fathered an illegitimate child and was divorced by his wife. Even so, you get the impression that the goofy, happy, guffawing Arnie is a useful role, and that lurking just under the surface is a man who's ruthlessly, perhaps even pathologically, driven to succeed at all costs.
Perhaps this is why he plays such a riveting Terminator: "He can't be bargained with. he can't be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And he absolutely will not stop, ever."
It was a hell of an interesting night and despite my best efforts I got a little bit caught up in the excitement of being in the midst of genuine celebrity. That said I would have felt a little cooler about the experience had I paid to to be there (the cheapest tickets were £126.50, and should you want to shake Arnie's hand and get a photo you'd have to stump up a jaw-dropping £2,100), especially as there were some extremely restricted views in the huge room.
Arnie is a die-hard combative Republican who cheats on his wife and stars in boneheadedly gory action films. Logically I should hate his guts, but I can't. It's vexing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
