LONDON CITY NIGHTS: Old Vic Tunnels

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

‘Bedlam’ at the Old Vic Tunnels, 21st October 201

Wednesday, October 24, 2012 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

If your goal is to create a space that fills visitors with unease and transports them away from the modern world then you can’t pick a much better place in London than the Old Vic Tunnels. I seem to be a regular here these days, this is the third time in three months I've been here attending something or other. ‘Bedlam’ is the third in a series of art events run by the Lazarides Gallery, being preceded by ‘Hells Half Acre’ in 2010 and ‘The Minotaur’ in 2011, neither of which I attended. The concept here is to portray a ‘world gone mad’, an overwhelmingly sensual experience that envelopes the viewer and apparently wants to draw them into the world of a mental patient. The focus for this is the Bethlem Royal Hospital, for many years London’s main mental asylum and more commonly referred to as ‘Bedlam’.

In practice this involves a lot of commissioned work artists in a variety of mediums. There are sculptures, audio-visual pieces, paintings and a number of interactive works. While the works differ widely in their forms and meanings they’re tied together by careful lighting and the omnipresent uneasy ambient music that fills the tunnels.

You enter the gallery in pitch darkness, feeling your way along a ramp into the art space. It’s a nice way of underlining the fact that you’re leaving one world behind and stepping into another. What you notice very quickly once you're inside is the sheer abundance of art here. These tunnels are a big space to fill but there’s room enough for larger pieces to breathe (in case literally), while also providing more claustrophobic spaces that encourage us to get right up to the art. It’s clear that a lot of time and thought has gone into where and how these artworks are going to be displayed. There are some pretty enormous works here that only work fully if you step back and let the entirety of them sink in, and also many which encourage close examination of the intricacy of design, or to read minutely scrawled messages written inside them.

There’s so much here that it feels impossible to comprehensively write about every piece, but regardless there are some that I particularly enjoyed.

One of the first pieces you see upon entering is Tina Tsang’s exploration through sculpture of religious idols. We see a number of statues of the Virgin Mary, each distorted and altered in some way. They haven’t been smashed apart or vandalised, all of them look like they’ve been organically transformed or dissected to reveal something present all along. For example, in one of them we see golden roots winding their way through her body, growing up through her and out of her robes. Moving to the rear we discover that the back of her head is that of an owl, and her back has been excavated to reveal tiny, complicated and intricate design work. The statues faces are of transparent perspex, and peering through reveals a video screen inside the head. All of Tsang's sculptures here follow similar lines, and I like how they reward the attention and curiosity of the viewer. It's also a neat subversion of the religious purpose of these icons. They're still objects of reverence, but now divorced from their Catholic origins, their meaning smeared to encompass a wider personal and religious scope.

Another thing I particularly liked was Tessa Farmer's mixed media piece. It seems to capture a frozen moment during an explosion in a taxidermists. Small preserved animals float, hung on invisible monofilaments from the ceiling. Objects seem to be have been picked to accompany them with the greatest of care; tiny pieces of rubble, concrete, broken glass float serenely in this strange cloud. There are things that seem to have melded together, skulls repurposed into strange boats, odd combinations of animal and material. I even saw a tiny preserved spider, tied ever so gently around the middle and hung from the ceiling. This was the only piece of artwork with a queue to get into the room to see it. For obvious reasons they can't let big crowds of people into a room with such a fragile and delicate arrangement in it. One thing in particular caught my eye, a stuffed rat with a plant seemingly grown right through the middle of it. The rat looked shocked and distressed at this foreign invasion upon its body, which for me seems a concise way of symbolising some forms of mental illness.

There were many pieces worthy of comment here, and in general the quality of the work was very high. But paradoxically, even with some great pieces, I thought that when taken as a whole there are big problems with this event. I know a decent amount about Bethlem Hospital, but if you were here to genuinely find out what the experiences of the patients, you're going to be out of luck here. I thought it was darkly funny that this show supports 'Mind', the mental health charity, as in many ways this was one of the more sensationalist looks into mental illness I've seen. The the press for this event claims that it will:

"leave you questioning your 'compos mentis', an experience that will showcase the line between genius and madness has never been so thin."

And so, madness here is defined as something alluring, attractive and ultimately kind of sexy. This is a show that goes out of its way to be dark and weird, but does it in a very familiar , and slightly cliched way. The Old Vic Tunnels are milked for every inch of their gothic charm, the lighting and spooky ambient soundtrack all add up to an experience that's strongly reminiscent of the London Dungeon. They go so full-bore in trying to set up this grand guignol atmosphere that you very quickly get the impression that they're trying just a bit too hard. You can almost feel the designers tugging your sleeve as you look at a bloody straightjacket, asking nervously if you're feeling shocked and disturbed yet. It frequently feels like you've stepped into a Marilyn Manson video from the mid 90s.

It's a bit strange to pin down what works and what doesn't, because some of the pieces look like they might work in a different context, but the sensationalist surroundings rob them of much of their power. In one room there's a gigantic floating eyeball looking around. In exclusion this would probably be a powerful image to look at, but here it just becomes yet another scary thing in a haunted house.

I think if you're going to tackle the hugely complicated subject of madness in an art exhibition you have to seriously think about reaction you want from your audience. There's a piece in one of the rooms where you lay back, and watch a slowly evolving fractal morphing on the ceiling. It looks cool, but looking cool just isn't enough, there has to be some meat on these conceptual bones! This reaction of "huh, that's pretty cool" is what you have to a lot of the work here, and it's perfectly accurate: a lot of it is cool. But if this is an examination of how people were treated in Bethlem Royal Hospital, it's important to remember that these were real people with real medical problems and it feels a bit uncomfortable to be entertained on the back of their horrible experiences.

There was another slightly bizarre aspect to the whole affair in that as the exhibition was sponsored by the phone company HTC, their phones and logo were present IN some of the art. I'm not going to sit here and decry corporate sponsorship in art, if they want to sponsor something creative then good for them, and I'd imagine it's largely down to HTC that tickets were free to book. But even so, at times this sponsorship did seem a bit heavy-handed, particularly when, for example, you have a sculpture constructed primarily of the latest HTC handset.

Throughout this exhibition, the audience seems encouraged to treat it more like a theme park than any serious examination of either history or the current notion of madness. There was a big twirling swing people were queuing up play on, or mock ECT chairs parents were strapping their grinning children into to take a picture for the family album. I can't criticise them for this, they were acting precisely as they should be acting in this sort of funhouse environment.

Perhaps this is the key to working out the worth of 'Bedlam'. It's got a neat, spooky atmosphere with a lot of eye-catching and flashy art in it that encourages you to interact with it. Ultimately it's an entertainment, something that has way more in common with Madame Tussauds and the London Dungeon et al than most art exhibitions around. That sounds damning, but hey, if it can turn people onto the idea that art is fun to look at then I suppose it can hardly be a failure. I just wish they didn't try to dress it up as a serious examination of the history of mental health care and an examination of mental illness.

All pictures © Ian Gavan

Friday, September 7, 2012

'Carnesky's Tarot Drome' at the Old Vic Tunnels, 5th September 2012

Friday, September 7, 2012 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

Entering the hot, musty, enclosed space of the Old Vic Tunnels feels like making a trip into the underworld. The curved rooftops and graffiti pull the walls in around you and the faint rumbling of the trains passing overhead is a constant reminder that you're deep under the streets of London. Every time I'm here I find it hard to shake the thought that I'm trespassing, that I'm somewhere I shouldn't be. The ideal environment then for an exploration of the mystic, a good place to "dissolve the barrier between consciousness and unconsciousness", to explore the symbolism of the tarot.

I'm no believer in fate; I certainly don't think some deck of cards is going to tell me what is and isn't going to happen in my life. On the other hand, I do enjoy the symbolism and poetic nature of the cards. The idea behind 'Carnesky's Tarot Drome' is to explore the Major Arcana: each card is embodied in a performer, and we either watch them perform or interact with them directly. In practise this means the night is a cross between performance art and cabaret theatre.

The entrance.

Having entered the tunnels we're greeted by a bar and a large wrestling ring with two women stood at either end. Not much is happening at the moment, and to be honest, this part of the night is a little boring. Most of the space is blocked off while the performers get ready, and this means there's no access to toilet facilities. It's not a great start to the evening to be honest, people mill about near the big entrance sign hopping up and down and crossing their legs, waiting for the permission to let us in.

Maria Carnesky as 'The World'

This order doesn't come for quite a while, and before this we're given an introduction to the tarot by Marisa Carnesky, playing 'The World'. Dressed in a dramatic gold winged head-dress she looks suitably mystical. She prowls around the stage, explaining to us in portentous tones about the power of the tarot, and about the journey we'll go on tonight. As she does the first reading she wraps the cards around herself; it's a dramatic image. This atmospheric introduction raises my hopes pretty high, if all the performers are as commanding as this it'll be one hell of a night.

The audience is then divided into two, and my half is sent off with 'The Hermit'. We move through the giant wooden entrance and into a room full of brightly costumed figures representing different cards. Each card is either performing an appropriate cabaret act, or is a miniature performance art piece in its own right.

'The High Priestess'

To my left is 'The High Priestess'. She stands supernaturally tall, with a huge pale blue wing-like cloak spreading out around her. Members of the audience take it in turns to approach her, as they step up to her plinth she sweeps her arms into the air, drawing her cloak around you. There's a dramatic rush of air, and you can't help but meet her wide-eyed stare with reverence. Her heavy eye make-up accentuates the power of this she gives you. Enveloping you in her cloak she opens her chest, revealing glittering jewels and an ornate heart glistening in the middle. She peels the top from the heart, and you reach in and pull a piece of paper out. Each piece of paper has a fairly long hand-written fortune on it. Even though she's doing the same short routine over and over again it's impossible not to feel awed when you're the one standing within her cloak, reaching up for that fortune.

Rhyannon Styles as 'The Chariot'

In the middle of the room, and a little more chatty than the others is 'The Chariot'. Played by Rhyannon Styles, performer and dancer, The Chariot explains to us about the power of self-transformation. Why has she been picked to be this card? The Chariot symbolises willpower, hard-won victory, a marriage of opposites, self-reliance and conviction. As Styles is a trans-woman undergoing the transition process it feels more than appropriate. The message she tells us of personal transformation is therefore especially powerful coming from her mouth, and the fact that she looks so stunning in the blue finery of the chariot costume underlines this power.

'The Magician'

To her left is 'The Magician', performing a classic sword routine. His glamorous assistant climbs into a box, and he dramatically pierces it with sword after sword. Surely she must be sliced to pieces inside! She miraculously emerges unscathed soon afterwards. This trick, while very well executed maybe suffers a little from being performed in such close proximity to the audience. It's fairly obvious how the illusion is achieved, but then I guess contortions required to even present the image of the empty box are worthy of praise in themselves.

'The Empress'

Sitting to the right of the room is 'The Empress'. She wears an absolutely stunning multi-armed costume of the Hindu Goddess Durga. She conducts herself utterly regally, and like The High Priestess, just catching The Empress' eye instils a feeling of awe. It is quite strange how quickly everyone begins treating these performers, and an almost religious reverence surrounds those around her. When people approach her she extends a hand with ripe fruit in it, and encourages you to take a bite. With juice running down your chin, and her looking beatifically on, the performance takes on strong maternal themes - appropriate enough for a manifestation of a card that is said to represent abundance, comfort and fertility.

Chi Chi Revolver as 'The Wheel of Fortune'

Beyond the arches is 'The Wheel of Fortune'. This is embodied by performer Chi Chi Revolver, Guinness World Record holding hula hoop artist. She stands in the centre of the wheel, multiple hoops spinning around her body as the wheel turns beneath. The wheel is covered in interesting miniature sculptures; a double-headed werewolf mask, a scorpion with a baby doll's head. The hula hooping is undoubtedly impressive, and the wheel itself is an interesting object to examine but I couldn't work out how (apart from the spinning aspect) the two were related to each other. Was there some kind of prize involved in it? Maybe I missed something here.

'The Hermit'

'The Hermit' occupied another space, with a large curtained tent containing pieces of fabric for audience members to clothe themselves with. It was a nice concept, but there seemed to be a bit of a wait to get into it and I'd become a little conscious that time might be running out.

'The Tower'

In an adjoining room were more performers. 'The Tower' was, predictably, very tall. As I approached her she beckoned me over, took my hand and stamped a date upon it. I'm not exactly sure what I was to take away from this. The Tower card traditionally represents themes of downfall and destruction, or failure and ruin. Either way, I doubt the date she gave me was a portent of anything positive. Fortunately for me, the stamp on my hand came out blurred and illegible so whatever it was remains a mystery to me.

'Justice'

By the time I'd reached this room it I was a little late to the party. 'Death' was nowhere to be found, and although there was a large tub of water in the centre of the room labelled 'Temperance' no performer was to be found. Standing near this was 'Justice', who stood in the classic 'Lady Justice' pose with scales. The costume was pretty magnificent, although this suffered from the fact that she didn't really seem to be doing anything. I later learned that this performer is in fact a highly qualified lawyer, which adds an interesting dynamic to the proceedings. It's a shame that I didn't pick up on this during the performance.

'The Emperor' (with 'The Hierophant in the background)

After this we were summoned back to the central arena to witness a grudge match between 'The Emperor' and 'Strength'. 'The Hierophant' was compering, hyping the crowd up in a spectacular purple suit. 'The Emperor' was represented by a muscled, cloaked luchador. He was explicitly outlined as a manifestation of the establishment and the 'bad guy'. His cloak was lined with Union Jacks, a brave decision coming over a summer when the flag seems to be being waved more than ever. He strutted around the stage, playing the heel to perfection, goading and taunting the crowd. His opponent, 'Strength' was a tough looking leotarded woman, with a shock of blonde hair poking from the top of her head. She got the crowd on side very quickly with a right-on speech about personal freedom, culminating in a yell of 'Free Pussy Riot!'.

'Strength'

I was at ringside as the bout kicked off, and found it unexpectedly thrilling. I've never seen any kind of professional wrestling before, and feeling the palpable thud as a body hits the mat was remarkably fun. It's easy to get swept up in the excitement, allowing yourself to participate in the shared delusion that's real. It's almost like pantomime in a way, the crowd shouts "He's behind you!" as the Emperor sneaks up behind Strength with a chain wrapped around his hand.

'The Emperor' on a leash.

Inevitably, Strength comes out on top (it would have been a bit depressing if she'd lost). She removes the Emperor's luchador mask, and places it on her head. I think this is intended as a symbol of her co-opting his authority and power for her own ends. Either way, it's a nice end to the match. The crowd throws streamers over the fallen Emperor, chaining him to the ground, further draining his power and reducing him to the status of our collective prisoner.

'The Emperor' in chains.

After this we're ushered through to an auditorium, where we watch more of a traditional cabaret show. 'The Fool', imagined as a glam rock singer in a sparkling suit serenades us, and soon the stage is filled with roller-skating girls in clocks performing complex routines to music. This section of the show doesn't work as well as the rest, and given the interactive nature of what we've seen before, being forced into a traditional audience role feels a little restricting. As far as endings go it unfortunately is a bit of an anticlimax. The rollerskaters, talented as they are, seem to go on forever with very little variety other than costume changes. After this, we're unceremoniously funnelled out onto the street. It feels like an abrupt end to the evening, and we're not really given a chance to decompress before being thrust into the real world again.

The rollerskating girls

While I did have a good time, I think that this is more interesting cabaret than an examination of what the tarot means. While this event certainly was entertaining and fun, it billed itself as a way to interact with the mystic, and to examine how it could be relevant to us. Rather than use cabaret and entertainment as a delivery method for this mysticism, it was more the opposite. The tarot theme ultimately felt a bit superficial, merely a way to link all of these different acts in one night.

If this event had kept the same spirit as I saw with the interactive performers early on, where I was free to wander and interact with them how I pleased then I would have enjoyed it far more. It was frustrating that this ended unexpectedly - there was no warning that we was about to transform from participants to spectators. When the show finished I was a little disappointed - I didn't feel like I'd had enough time to see as much as I wanted to.

Despite these misgivings, it was a show well worth seeing, and I'd definitely attend another Carnesky night. The sense of style and showmanship is far beyond most cabaret nights you could attend. It contained some of the most interesting and striking costume design that I've seen, something improved by the fact that in most instances you can get very close to the performers and see the intricate detailing.

I couldn't say that I learned much from this experience, or that it gave me a new perspective on the tarot or an appreciation of a mystical worldview. I can say that for the majority of time there I was both excited and entertained. It's a fine spectacle, but don't go expecting anything more substantial.

Monday, August 20, 2012

'The Silence of the Lambs' (1991) directed by Jonathan Demme, 18th August 2012

Monday, August 20, 2012 - by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

(Seen as part of the 'MGM Terror in the Tunnels' at the Old Vic Tunnels)

Some moments in film leave an indelible mark on the viewer, and there are few more memorable than the introduction to Dr Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) in 'The Silence of the Lambs'. Hannibal Lecter is in terms of the narrative almost an ancillary character in the film, yet he exudes a gravitational pull over every other aspect. Mention the film to anyone, and doubtless the first image that springs to mind will be that calm, composed body language coupled with those staring, somehow maniacally relaxed eyes. Eyes that stare straight into the camera rather than at any element in the film. He's looking at us.

Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lector

But he's just a component in a wider narrative of a rookie FBI agent Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) in a race against time to find serial killer 'Buffalo Bill' (Ted Levine) before his latest captor becomes another victim. It's a coolly tense film from beginning to end, one that takes place in a desaturated world populated by a series of damaged and neurotic people. There are few truly psychologically healthy characters in this film, and those that are tend to become traumatised as events spin out of control around them.

Demme is exacting in the world he creates. He makes sure that everything is interestingly tactile; for example in Starling's descent to the cells in which Lecter lives, all the doors squeak and creak alarmingly. Everything seems to be slowly decaying around the characters. Even something as simple as opening a storage space requires a car jack, and Starling to crawl underneath in the dirt and dust. The upshot of all this grime and ruin is that it is very hard to spot light at the end of the tunnel. Even though Starling eventually saves the day, a happy ending never feels like a guarantee at any point.

In a very 'dirty' film, it's telling to look out for the clean and bright spaces. Here Demme defies expectations. Hannibal Lecter built up as a character expertly. People talk about him in hushed, awed tones.

"Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass. You pass him nothing but soft paper - no pencils or pens. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it. Do you understand me?"

What's on that photograph must be pretty horrible.

We are thus primed to meet a monster. As Starling is led down into the Lector's prison/dungeon she is warned over and over again how dangerous he is. She is shown a photograph of what Lecter did to someone's face the last time he got free. While Starling looks on, we are left to imagine what horrors the photo depicts. She walks down the corridor to his cell, the last one on the row. She passes a row of wild-looking, terrifying degenerates living in filthy conditions, their hair ragged and wild, muttering to themselves obscenely.

Then we meet Lecter. Standing composed, still, neatly turned out in the middle of a spotless cell. No bars to keep him in, but solid and transparent perspex, almost like there's nothing there at all. His body language so composed we might suspect he's made of wax. Demme has carefully raised our expectations and then dashed them in one swoop. In this world of filth it is the cannibalistic psychopath that is set apart by his cleanliness, manners and perspicacity.

We later venture into another underworld, one seems to fit into expectations of what a serial killer's lair should be. It almost too neatly fits into certain categories of horror though. It's a dank, dirty basement populated by fluttering moths and caterpillars. Disturbing images adorn the walls and as a centrepiece there is a huge dark pit, the sides covered in bloody handprints. This difference between Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill allows us to separate the two thematically. We are gently encouraged to admire Lecter's taste and intelligence, while deploring Buffalo Bill's lapse into serial killer cliche. Lecter knows himself inside and out, knows what he is, why he kills and what he wants to achieve. Buffalo Bill is a man desperately seeking a purpose and identity, a man trying to transform himself into something else.

Ted Levine as Buffalo Bill

Throughout the film there is a constant motif of metamorphosis and transformation. Buffalo Bill's goal is to kill enough women to make a 'woman suit' from their skins in an attempt to achieve this aim. He keeps moths and butterflies, placing their chrysalis' in his victim's mouths. The chrysalis is a pretty unambiguous symbol of change here. But it's not just Buffalo Bill who's in the process of change, or of trying to change what they are.

Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling

When Lecter meets Starling he almost instantly manages to deduce her past, and her insecurities.

"You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you, Agent Starling? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure West Virginia. What is your father, dear? Is he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? You know how quickly the boys found you. All those tedious sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars. While you could only dream of getting out, getting anywhere, getting all the way to the F-B-I."

Starling is trying to hide her somewhat tragic past as an orphan from the country, but gives herself away fairly easily. She's mostly succeeded in her self induced transformation, but tends to give herself away in unguarded moments. You can pick up hints of it when she refers to a victim of Buffalo Bill being 'from town', an expression only someone who wasn't from 'town' would use. Lecter gradually teases her tragic past out of her, exposing her latent 'daddy' issues and childhood trauma (the titular silence of the lambs). Starling's attempts to get over this trauma add a personal element in her crusade to save Bill's latest victim. She may not have been able to save a lamb marked for slaughter as a child, but saving this woman helps make up for that. Jodie Foster is grippingly realistic as Agent Starling, and more than holds her own against the overtly attention grabbing performances of Hopkins and Levine.

She's self-confident, ambitious and smart, but she's in a man's world and is never allowed to forget it. In general the gender discrimination that Starling suffers isn't done consciously by the male characters, but they rather tend to unthinkingly place her situations where her gender can be seen as a liability. A prime example of this is when she and her superior, Crawford have travelled to the autopsy of one of Bill's victims. Demme positions her standing in the middle of group of gawping policemen, panning around their faces as they look down at her with a faint hint of contempt on their faces. She takes command, raising her voice and authoritatively ordering them out of the room:

"Excuse me! Excuse me, gentlemen. You officers and gentlemen, listen here now. There's things we need to do for her. I know that you all brought her this far and that her folks would thank you if they could for your kindness and your sensitivity. And now, please, go on now and let us take care of her. Go on, now. Thank you."

It feels like a test of some kind, and one that she passes with flying colours. Another way in which Starling's gender becomes an issue is that of touch, and I see this focus on touch, and particularly skin on skin touch as being an important aspect of the film. Throughout the film, men are touching Starling. It's often quite innocent, but even a simple act like placing a hand on her shoulder has definite paternal implications. She gets advances in one form or another from most of the men in the film, even the nerdy etymologist tries to ask her out for "cheeseburgers" while invading her personal space.

Lecter makes contact with Starling.

The two most intense examples of these moments are from the two killers she comes into contact with, Lecter and Bill. Lecter has been repeatedly defined as 'untouchable'. While other prisoners are behind bars, he is behind glass. Starling has been explicitly told not to go anywhere near him, not that she would naturally - he seems to radiate danger like a shark or tiger. But towards the middle of the film, when Lecter has been placed in a cage in a hotel, he moves to hand her a dossier he's looked through. Starling breaks free from the men dragging her outside (more manhandling of her) and rushes forward. As she takes the papers, Lecter strokes his finger against hers. It's only a microsecond of contact, but seems strangely erotic. It's a vague hint of forbidden passion. This strange quasi-romantic relationship between Starling and Lecter is only hinted at in this film, Lecter taunts Starling at one point saying, "people will say we're in love" and there's a grain of truth to it.

Bill reaches for Starling's hair

The contact between Bill and Starling is in another context entirely. Starling has discovered Bill's lair. Bill has turned the lights out, plunging the cellar into pitch darkness. As Starling claws her way through the dark, panic etched onto her features, Bill puts on a pair of nightvision goggles and stalks her through the dark. From his perspective we see his hand come forward, and reach out to gently stroke her hair. At the moment of contact, Bill's revolver clicks, Starling 'sees' him and empties her gun into him, killing him. In some way this feels like a culmination of her frustrations with men over the film. Throughout they are, as Lecter puts it 'coveting' her in some form. In killing Bill, who after all, covets women in the most destructive and sadistic way she is exorcising this spectre and indeed in the next scenes we see her receiving her full agent status. The final direct contact with Starling comes from her boss, she offers her hand to him, and they shake as equals in a scene that seems free of any sexual overtones. Although (and I may be imagining this) he seems to hold her hand just a moment too long.

Starling shakes Crawford's hand.

Skin plays an important role throughout this film, and not just in the way the men treat Agent Starling. The most notable example is Buffalo Bill's attempted construction of the 'woman suit', made out of real women. But Bill isn't the only person in the film to use another's skin for a piece of clothing of some kind. In escaping custody, Lecter cuts the face off one of his guards and poses as him, only revealing himself in the ambulance when he memorably pulls the bloody mask from his own face. Both of these men take pleasure in cutting and intruding upon the human form, but their methods are different. Lecter in his cannibalism ingests his victims, on some level undergoing a kind of communion with them. Bill attempts to undergo a communion with his victims too, but his methods are cruder and inelegant. He seems, unconsciously, like a poor imitation of Lecter.

Lecters communion?

There is an awful lot to discuss in 'Silence of the Lambs'. Issues of gender, transformation, sex, violation of the body and the contact with the world. What stays with me is the way the broken characters within this world interact with each other, and particularly with Starling. This is a film where various boundaries, of the body and elsewhere are sacrosanct, and those who violate this are committing a horrific, fascinating blasphemy.

'Carrie' (1976) directed by Brian DePalma, 17th August 2012

- by londoncitynights · - 0 Comments

(Seen as part of the 'MGM Terror in the Tunnels' at the Old Vic Tunnels)

'Carrie' is a film that wears its subtexts on its sleeve (and eventually all over the rest of the body as well). In adapting Stephen King's story, DePalma doesn't pull any punches in telling us of the passion of Carrie White. It's a chilling film, but on a quite a few levels, 'Carrie' shares a lot of beats with a 'Revenge of the Nerds' style high-school comedy - all of the beats of the genre are here: the bitchy cheerleaders, the girl with the heart of gold, the doofus dorky guy, the pleasant 'Prince Charming'. The school itself seems anonymous, a faintly antiseptic archetype of the 1970s school. But DePalma gradually twists the knife and slowly the nostalgia (to modern audiences anyway) boils away to reveal immense cruelty bubbling just under the surface.

In the famous opening credits sequence scene DePalma puts us on a slow motion tracking shot through a steamy girls changing room. It's a tableaux of innocent, wholesome feminine behaviour. The girls play tricks on each other, giggling and gossiping. The billowing clouds of steam in the air coupled with the dreamlike slow motion and the soft, lilting flute music playing lulls us into dreamy state, it seems like a distilled idealisation of a girls changing room. As a male viewer I begin feel like an interloper, a peeping tom in a feminine world absent from the influence of men.

We track through a cloud of steam to find the Carrie White alone in the shower. She's depicted here as something like a classical nude, something vaguely classically statueesque in the steam clouds. But this image is dashed when, she's brought back down to earth with a bump. At the moment she touches between her legs and sees blood on her fingers, this pastoral scene shatters. She staggers out seeking help and the girls, who have just been explicitly painted as communal, friendly and beautiful, quickly morph into a terrifying pack of harpies. They pelt Carrie with sanitary napkins as she cowers screaming in the corner. It's this sort of duplicity and rapidly transforming identities that DePalma exploits throughout the film. It's also the first of many examples of femininity unexpectedly morphing into something uncontrollable and violent, the ultimate example being, of course, the climactic prom sequence.

As far as famous movie monsters are concerned, Carrie White is one of the most obviously sympathetic. This is someone who's been systematically ground into the dirt by almost everyone she meets. Even those who are ostensibly trying to help commit tiny, thoughtless atrocities against her without noticing. One of the earliest demonstrations of her telekinesis occurs when the principal of the school repeatedly addresses her as 'Cassie' even when corrected repeatedly by both Carrie and her sympathetic gym teacher. He's trying to help, but not out of sympathy, but because it's his job.

As I said before, DePalma is not particularly subtle about any of the essential misery of Carrie, and this on-the-nose symbolism comes to a head when Carrie returns home. From the outside her house looks like any other US suburban home, but inside it's a candle-lit gothic nightmare. It's a space filled with dirty surfaces covered in religious icons. We repeatedly focus on a statue of the martyrdom of St Sebastian, the tortured human body covered in tiny bleeding wounds. Draw your own connections here.

I hadn't seen the film in a long time before this, and I'd forgotten just how much of the rest of the film spends rehabilitating Carrie. The opening sequences are such a concisely powerful demonstration of the miserable life she leads that there isn't any need to underline it. We properly meet Amy Irving (who feels genuinely guilty about her behaviour in the changing room) and Tommy Ross. In what can begin to feel like a straightforward revenge horror, it's nice to see two genuinely pleasant people who want to do make amends and do a nice thing for someone.

Tommy Ross

Tommy Ross especially is an interesting character. He seems cut from the cloth of the meathead quarterback, but is perhaps the only truly good person in the film. Despite initially being sceptical of Amy's plan for him to take Carrie to the prom, he persists and succeeds, treating her well and surprisingly even himself by genuinely feeling attraction to her.

Chris Hargenson (Nancy Allen) and Billy Nolan (John Travolta)

As for antagonists we have the amoral Chris Hargenson who comes up with a very complicated and cruel plan to humiliate Carrie for extremely petty means. Her sidekick is John Travolta's Billy Nolan. He's more of a sketch than a complete character, but Travolta manages to make him completely venal, slapping his girlfriend more than once and taking an obscene pleasure in killing a pig.

Carrie and her mother (Piper Laurie)

Closer to home, as far as enemies go is Carrie's mother. She is the ne plus ultra Christian fundamentalist oppressor. She is so obviously bonkers, sinister and genuinely odd that you begin to wonder how exactly she fits into society at large. In the rare moment of her interacting with someone that's not Carrie, people seem to humour her with the intention of getting rid of her without causing too much offence. It's interesting that Carrie seems to live in an authoritarian matriarchal world. The people that have active power over her, whether they have good or bad intentions are all women. The men are relegated either to incompetence, or in Tommy's case elevated to the level of a faintly intangible holy icon. This pushing back against a matriarchy from the point of view of the outcast is intriguing, for me, it represents a violent rejection of the plethora of potential feminine roles that have been offered to her by society. Everyone seems to think they know what would be best for her, but even if they have the finest intentions they are still intending to impose their will upon her.

All of these plans for Carrie converge at the prom. On one side we have the perhaps overly complicated revenge plan of Chris and Billy. This has involved killing a pig, draining it of blood and setting up a complicated pulley system that allows them to hide under the stage waiting for just the right moment to dump the blood on her head. To make sure they'll get her on stage they've contrived to have someone infiltrate the prom organising council with the plan of rigging the election for Prom King and Queen. You've got to hand to them, as far as sadistically diabolical revenge plans go it is at the very least competently executed. We also have the far more straightforward plan of Amy and Tommy. Tommy will take Carrie to the prom, and give her at least one enjoyable night.

It's a sign of a great film that even with a famously grand guignol and fun sequence like Carrie's psychokinetic rampage, I find myself wishing that maybe just this once, Carrie will dodge the bucket of blood and go on to live a happy and fulfilled life. Pre-rampage, the prom is shown as heavenly, shot in soft-focus and in the same ethereal slow motion as the changing room sequence in the beginning. The emotional high point is the slow dance between Tommy and Carrie. It's as if they're floating on air, and as Carrie looks at him we see his blonde hair illuminated from behind giving him a clear angelic halo.

But once more in the film, as soon as we are lulled into a sense of the heavenly we are brought back to earth with a bloody bump. The echoes of the opening shower scene are unmistakable. In majestic slow motion, with a flute playing softly, Carrie takes the stage with Tommy as King and Queen. Everyone smiles and claps, seemingly pure, sincere praise. But cross-cut with this are sharp, 'Psycho' like violin stings as we see the bucket teetering above the stage. We flash to close-ups of Chris, teasing the string that'll bring the bucket down. She's hidden under the stage, lit from below and looking utterly devilish. The tension expertly build and builds, crosscutting back and forth, panning around the stage. Suddenly it all feels inevitable, and with a lascivious lick of her lips and a smile she pulls the cord.

Carrie is rebaptised in pig's blood, and at the moment of this corruption of Christianity her repressed witch-demon self is unleashed. The empty bucket strikes the angelic Tommy on the head, and he collapses like a slain sacrificial lamb at her feet. From powerless to all powerful she controls wind, water, fire and earth, cutting a sadistic and cruel swathe through friend and foe alike. He shows the rampage through moving split screens (in a style that's faintly reminiscent of the documentary 'Woodstock'). This allows us to keep focus on the now wide-eyed and masklike visage of Carrie as well as simultaneously seeing how she uses the architecture and infrastructure of the school itself to wreak havoc. In an unforgettable shot we see the backdrop of the stage erupt into flames as Carrie seems to glide through the panicked crowd.

What is DePalma telling us about femininity and womanhood here? He seems both awed and fearful of the power of women. Prior to this we are encouraged to view Carrie as a sympathetic protagonist, but now she has tipped over into the world of the movie monster. Her rage is indiscriminate: one of the most disturbing images is when her sympathetic and friendly gym teacher stares in fear at Carrie before being crushed by a falling gym sign. Even though 'Carrie' is a film about interactions between women and the internal life of a high school girl, the power of these images suggests DePalma's conscious inability to know the workings of the female mind, and the fear that this lack of understanding creates.

In the concluding scenes of the film, Carrie ends her telekinetic rampage by destroying the remaining aspects of her life. She is ritually penetrated by her mother upon returning home, and in her final moments impales her mother in return with kitchen knives, leaving her in the same pose as the martyrdom of St Sebastian. Then in the last paroxysms of rage brings the house down around her. Her rage has ended in self-destruction, and her epitaph is 'Carrie White Burns in Hell!'. In the iconic closing scene she proves that her influence will extend beyond the grave in the minds of both the characters and the audience, reaching out of her grave to pull a dreaming and traumatised Amy in after her. This archetypal 'furie' has returned to the land of mythology. The bucket of blood being a direct callback to the menstruation in the opening scenes leads me inevitably to the conclusion that DePalma's intention is to paint a repressed fury as an crucial facet of femininity. Truly, "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned".

After 35 years 'Carrie' still works amazingly well, and still has many valid and relevant points. To modern eyes there are a few scenes that approach camp, and some of the fashion is a bit laughable, especially Tommy's ridiculous powder blue prom suit. But in another sense the concept of the bullied outcast going on a violent, murderous rampage has new cultural currency in the modern era. In particular, it is hard not to think of the Columbine massacre as Carrie gets her sadistic revenge on her classmates.

It's fast-moving, propulsive plotted and darkly satirical. All of the performances are spot-on, with Sissy Spacek giving a career defining performance. Her horrified transformation into a cold-eyed force of destruction is chilling, especially in contrast to the beaten down and submissive girl in the rest of the film. DePalma uses rapidly cut montage sequences throughout, as well as the split screen techniques and occasionally cheesy vaguely synthesised bubblegum music to create an ephemeral 'pop' aesthetic that only makes the inevitable horror more shocking when it arrives. But, shocking as the events may be they remain always enjoyable.

Because while only a real monster couldn't empathise with Carrie, we also take pleasure in watching that bucket wobble precariously over her head. We're filled with the same kind of sick anticipation that the bullies are feeling, crouched in the wings, waiting to see her disgusted reaction. This carefully set up duality is what makes the film so much fun, so memorable and so effective.

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