The History Boys on Broadway, Sherman at Twenty, Tsotsi on film

Welcome back dear readers (all nine of you), from the Easter Break. Hope it was refreshing.

After its critically-acclaimed but low-key run at The Sydney theatre, the NT's (National Theatre, London) production of Alan Bennett's deliciously wordy play, The History Boys, opened at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York last week, to lavish praise from the serious critics. John Lahr in the New Yorker starts his review by quoting from the play:

"“How do I define history?” asks one of the grammar-school highfliers cramming for the Oxbridge exams, "It's just one fucking thing after another."

This is as good way as any to evoke the whiplash humour and biting ironies of a play that is two and half hours long, but never for an instant lets you feel bored. As in Sydney, this is the original, brilliant London cast and Richard Griffiths excels. All the schoolboys are excellent, with standouts being Jamie Parker (Scripps), Samuel Barnett (Posner) and Dominic Cooper as the much admired class spunk, Dakin. The design and stagecraft is the best, simplest and most theatrically inventive I have seen for many a year. Five big ones - see it if you can.

At the movies, the best thing I've seen lately is the South African feature Tsotsi, which is on worldwide arthouse release, having taken the Best Foreign Picture Oscar, to the obvious astonishment (at the ceremony) of its director, Gavin Hood. Even though the premise (bad boy steals car with baby on board and discovers his humanity) is not that original, there is something uncompromisingly honest and believable about the world evoked in this film, which raises this simple redemption story above mere sentimentality, although there is plenty of sentiment, to paraphrase Somerset-Maugham. The movie does not try to be 'International', and most of the dialogue is in 'Sowetospeak' (my term because I can't remember what it's called), an amalgam of Zulu, Sotho, Xhosa, English, Afrikaans and several other languages. The cast are 'unglamorous' in every way. It is this truthfulness to its own vernacular which perversely gives the film its universality. South African film comes of age.

To Sherman Galleries last week for the launch of their impressive book TWENTY, celebrating 20 years in the game. Interesting to see the usual power crowd of black (or tweed)-clad movers and shakers supplanted for the night by black (or denim)-clad artists and their artwives, arthusbands, parents and children - something of a family affair. Gene Sherman gave an enthusiastic and endearingly gauche speech, and Charles Merewether gave a robust and rather rigorous one. Everyone admired the Hari Ho photographs (of each other) on the walls with suitably ironic commentary, and a good time was had by all. The book is excellent, and will be seen as an important milestone in the internationalisation of the Sydney commercial gallery scene. It sets a new, high benchmark for gallery publishing and shows all the evidence of having been properly resourced - a very classy piece of print indeed. Can it be long before we see something along the same lines from Roslyn Oxley? Only better, of course.

A tout a l'heure.

Faulty Memories, the Price of Freedom, V for Vendetta

A busy week past, but not (for me) a particularly arty one. Most notable has been the media spectacle of our Foreign Minister (Alexander Downer) and Prime Minister (John Howard) appearing before the 'Oil for Food' enquiry into kickbacks of nearly $300 million paid by AWB (Australian Wheat Board) to Saddam Hussein's regime, prior to the invasion.

This has been so exhaustively written about that I hesitate to add to the verbiage. Suffice to say that even the most ardent supporters of our current leaders are disbelieving and somewhat ashamed at the mass breakout of amnesia surrounding this disgraceful matter. I am looking forward to reading the spin that right-of-centre columnists such a Gerard Henderson will put on events next week, but it's interesting that even 'New Right' commentators such as Michael Duffy are starting to (albeit rather gently) question the integrity of the Government, see On with the show for the artful dodgers (SMH 14/4/06).

There is perhaps the first whiff of an important change in the political air, worth noting. Could we even be witnessing the moment when the worm turns? The 'Kids Overboard' affair, Tampa, phantom Iraqi WMDs... in all these familiar cases Ministers and the PM claimed not to have been properly informed by their underlings, and got away with it. They may have been somewhat diminished in the eyes of the Australian people, but election results consistently demonstrated that if people thought they were being lied to, they didn't really care, or that good economic management and low mortgage rates were more important. Or perhaps the 'War on terror' has meant that standards of accountability and probity need not be so exacting? We have reached a point I believe, long passed in the UK and the USA, where the Australian populace in general, in so far as it cares at all, now believes that it is routinely lied to. The Aussie way is to shrug and say "Well, they're pollies, what do you expect?"

In response, I quote Wendell Phillips:
"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." (1852)

Benjamin Franklin:
"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." (1759)

And best of all, James Madison (4th President of the United States): "I believe there are more instances of the abridgement of freedom of the people by gradual and silent encroachments by those in power than by violent and sudden usurpations." (1788)


Which leads nicely to the newly released movie V for Vendetta. OK, so its a 'Hollywood' movie based on a graphic novel, with some major script flaws, but remarkably timely for all that. Without going into full detail about the Britain it depicts, set in the near future, the important factor is that does not imagine an Orwellian world where people know they are oppressed (yet), but rather one not unlike the present, where the abdication of freedoms is still actively in progress. In this world a combination of nationalist infotainment (think of Bill O'Reilly on US Fox News and it's not so far fetched) and constant, media-manipulated fear of 'terrorists', disease outbreaks, 'degenerates' and so on, keeps the population willingly in thrall to a 'Big Brother' type Chancellor, played with suitable menace by John Hurt. While people in pubs and at home around the TV set mutter "Rubbish... fuckin' liar", they are sufficiently cowed by fear not to do anything. NOT fear of the Government security apparatus per se, but of the bogies that government and a compliant media constantly conjure up. Sound familiar? Of course, all this changes when a character called 'V' (Hugo Weaving), wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, arrives on the scene. All the performances are excellent, and Natalie Portman is, as always, mesmerising. Three and a half stars.

Still on movies, I watched on DVD the underrated A Home At The End Of The World based on Michael Cunningham's book, which I've never read, but may do after seeing this film. Believable performances from Colin Farrell, Dallas Roberts, Sissy Spacek and Robin Wright Penn - it slipped below my radar on release, and I don't recall anyone commenting on it. Given that the film deals with a complex ménage-a-trois between a gay man, a bisexual man, a heterosexual woman and 'their' child, and throw in a dope-smoking mother and HIV, I found myself wondering what all the fuss over Brokeback Mountain was about. This isn't quite as epic or as well directed, but Colin Farrell is as much a straight leading man as 'Heath'n Jake', and the story presents what is in many ways a more contentious issue in a non-judgmental way - whether two men, a woman and a child can be a family. Four stars from me. Margaret?

British Alchemy, New Design at Object, Norrie at Mori, Judy Watson at GrantPirrie, Musee du Quai Branly

Tuesday 4 saw the opening of Great Brits - The New Alchemists at the UTS Gallery, another exhibition showcasing emerging British talent, curated by London's Design Museum with Paul Smith, originally hosted by "Sir Paul" at the Milan Salone Internazionale del Mobile last year, with much fanfare, and now being toured by the British Council. According to the press release the six designers "share a passion for experimentation with new materials and manufacturing technologies and for exploring the transformative - or alchemical - possibilities of design. Great Brits explores the development of a raw, surreal design aesthetic that transforms base objects or materials and commonplace typologies in unexpected ways." The standout work in a somewhat underwhelming show are Julia Lohmann's "dismembered cow carcass lounges" (my description), and Mathias Megyeri's amusing security railings. One influential Australian design thinker has commented (anonymously alas) that this is "product design trying to be gallery art and succeeding in being a self-indulgent wank". I don't entirely agree, however if one views product design as a discipline aimed at industrial production, then the one-off experimental nature if some of this work could be a problem.

It's interesting to compare Great Brits - The New Alchemists with Object Gallery's rather more sedate annual New Design 2006 show. According to the press release: "This popular exhibition introduces the most outstanding design graduates in the country, working across product design, textiles, fashion, ceramics, glass and furniture." All the work shown is excellent as you'd expect, but in comparison to the messy, noisy, experimental Brits, it seems timid, well-mannered, a little conservative. A subjective opinion of course, and not a crticisism of the quality of the work. Standout for me is Janice Vitkovsky's (ANU) award-winning cast glass piece Moment when the darkness, 2006. Also well worth a look is Poetica in the Project Space upstairs.

Wednesday 5, to Mori Gallery for Susan Norrie's haunting new 'Work in progress 2005/6'. This silent, black and white film, projected really huge on one wall of the main space, begins with an image of a nuclear explosion, and progresses to an almost elegiac meditation in and around the Aboriginal tent Embassy in Canberra. A restless, roaming camera pans and glides, revealing flapping canvas, drifting smoke, distant figures, the stark white architecture of the old parliament buildings. The artist's statement talks of the concept of a "Black Mist", which are the words apparently used by Aborgines to describe the fallout from the British nuclear tests at Maralinga in the 50s and 60s. Norrie's work stands out from so much humdrum screen-based work, although I find it hard to articulate just what is so special about it. For me her pieces have the quality of almost dream-like 'nocturnes', saturated with sadness and melancholy, a kind of grieving for the human condition.

Thursday 6 to GrantPirrie for the new Judy Watson show - impressive works, though rather decorative for my austere taste in painting. However Judy Watson's curved, etched zinc wall at the Melbourne Museum is my absolute number 1 favourite piece of environmental art in Australia, and she is one of the 8 Indigenous artists whose work will be incorporated into the fabric of the 'Rue de l'Université building', one of the four buldings that make up the of the soon-to-be opened Musée du Quai Branly (MQB) in Paris, designed by Jean Nouvel. The other artists are Gulumbu Yunupingu, John Mawurndjul, Paddy Bedford, Lena Nyadbi, Ningura Napurrula, Tommy Watson and the late Michael Riley.

More on MQB soon.

Iraq Update: 'Blood for Oil'

My eagle-eyed brother has drawn my attention to an excellent article in The London Review of Books: 'Blood for Oil?' in response to the post Condoleeza Rice's Pax Americana of March 18, 2006 (see archive).

The Blood for Oil? article, by a group of writers and activists collectively called Retort, considers whether oil was the reason for the invasion of Iraq. Their conclusion, that oil is only a minor factor, is similar to my own thesis, but much better argued. It's long, but is a veritable history lesson in US and Western policy in the Middle East since the 1920s, and a devastating look at the labyrinthine US oil/military/industrial/ construction/banking/ political complex. Here's a sampler question to whet your appetite (courtesy of LRB and the authors, see below):

"The first Gulf War had been a struggle over oil supplies. Saddam was furious that Kuwait and UAE, under US pressure, were producing over quota to keep prices low. His obvious oil-profits motive elicited widespread condemnation in the Arab world and provided a broad multilateral basis for the American military response. What was on offer to the industry in 2003, on the other hand, was unilateral adventurism in the face of a global Muslim insurgency, and the prospect of enraging the most numerous generation of young Arabs and Muslims in history. It risked over 20 per cent of the world’s oil supply, the entire Gulf strategy, the wider set of US interests in the region, the radical destabilisation of the entire Muslim world, the active promotion of the jihadi struggle, and blowback of a wholly unpredictable and uncontainable sort. Why do it?"©

For answers see the full article on the LRB website at: http://www.lrb.co.uk/v27/n08/reto01_.html

© The London review of Books and Retort, a ‘gathering of antagonists to capital and empire’, based in the San Francisco Bay Area. This essay was written by Iain Boal, T.J. Clark, Joseph Matthews and Michael Watts. Afflicted Powers: Capital and Spectacle in a New Age of War, which deals with many aspects of post-September 11 global politics, is due from Verso this summer.

Colour Power and Power Games in Wollongong

To the Wollongong City Gallery (WCG) this Saturday past to see the NGV touring exhibition Colour Power, Aboriginal art post 1984, curated by Judith Ryan. The WCG selection appears to be a drastically cut-down version of the original NGV show (judging by the NGV website - the catalogue was unavailable). The survey show looks at the impact of synthetic colour (acrylics) on Aboriginal art, covering most regions, the premise is a good and interesting one, and the work is well hung in a single room with mezzanine balcony - by far the best room in a somewhat dispiriting gallery.

Certainly the gallery Director, Peter O'Neill, made it a dispiriting occasion. I was a guest of an advisor to the AGNSW Aboriginal Collection Benefactors Group - a distinguished and fairly knowledgeable assembly of 15 or so people who had traveled down from Sydney to view the show and hear a talk by the Director on WCG's own Indigenous collection. Possibly because Herr Direktor was forgoing Saturday with his family, perhaps because he thought the visitation from Sydney needed a lesson in arrogance, or maybe because he simply dislikes people not from Wollongong - from the moment of greeting he had "... resentment tucked into his waistband like a 38", to borrow a phrase from Tom Wolfe.

In short order he favoured us with his distaste for Art Express (the HSC student show), Hazelhurst Regional Gallery, the "oddly named NGV" and its inability to supply a catalogue for his show, the fact that he was "neither an expert, nor a scholar, nor a curator", and his view that the fortunate citizens of Wollongong had an immeasurably better cultural life than those in Sydney, having his gallery of course, and their "own newspaper", an apparent reference to that beacon of enlightenment, The Illawarra Mercury.

It would have been quite funny, if it hadn't been delivered with scarcely-veiled animosity towards his guests. Having raised everyone's hackles, he then abdicated from talking about the exhibition, saying "perhaps some of you would like to talk about it".

"It's going to be a delightful day", I thought to myself.

In fact it did get better - marginally. As the afternoon wore on and the prospect of escape neared, he seemed to be making an effort to be pleasant, with mixed results. His slide show was of interest, and though the locally collected work was pretty ordinary, he spoke well about it. The visit ended with a trip to the storeroom to look at the permanent Indigenous collection usurped from the walls by the much-resented Art Express. Except that he didn't really get anything out, except a fake Clifford Possum, despite being asked about the Rover Thomas in the collection. I was glad to escape.

The gallery building is, I gather, an old council headquarters, so has some natural disadvantages as an art gallery, but it feels threadbare, dusty, neglected, gloomy... dispiriting, as I said at the outset. There is a marvelous terrace on the top level, where there could be a great café and bookshop for instance. Perhaps the place is short of funds or, more likely in my view, its Director lost interest long ago, and is serving out his time until retirement. That's what it feels like, and if so, the citizens of Wollongong are being ill-served and deserve better, just as they no doubt deserve a better newspaper.

Pip-pip.

Who the hell is Richard Diebenkorn?

Was.

Maybe the greatest American painter of the 20th century.
Oh all right, him and Mark Rothko.
Pollock? Basquiat? Hopper? O'Keefe? Rauschenburg? OK, OK, OK!
The point is, his is not a name that many people are familiar with. He died in 1993 in Berkeley, Caltifornia.

I saw a retrospective of his work once, at the Whitechapel in London, must have been... maybe 1980, thirteen or so years before he died, and the memory of that show has never quite left me. The catalogue of the major 1998 (posthumous) retropective at the Whitney (NY) remains the most looked-at book in my library. And when I have lost the heart to paint, of haven't painted for awhile, I look at it, and invariably I want to paint again.

I've been thinking about him again lately, indeed earlier today on a trip south along the coast to Wollongong, seeing the angular new housing developments, I thought particulary of his semi-abstact 'cityscapes' (more 'suburb-scapes') from the early 60s – the period between the 50s 'organic' abstracts and the 70-80s 'Ocean Park' abstractions.

Anyway, came across this last weekend, quoted in John Elderfield's essay 'Leaving Ocean Park' in the Whitney cataloque, with the permission of Phyllis Diebenkorn, and I repeat it here courtesy of those individuals:

Richard Diebenkorn: Notes to myself on beginning a painting:

1. Attempt what is not certain, certainty may of may not come later. It may be then a valuable delusion.
2. The pretty, initial position which falls short of completeness is not to be valued – except as stimulus for further moves.
3. DO search. But in order to find other that what is searched for.
4. Use and respond to the initial fresh qualities but consider them absolutely expendable.
5. Don’t discover a subject – of any kind.
6. Somehow don’t be bored – but if you must, use it in action. Use its destructive potential.
7. Mistakes can’t be erased but they move you from your present position.
8. Keep thinking about Polyanna.
9. Tolerate chaos.
10. Be careful only in a perverse way.

I think these rules are extraordinary, and although he wrote them about the scary adventure that is painting, I imagine they would have a resonance with most visual artists, writers, composers, choreogoraphers, and even philosophers.

Thanks Bob, your thoughts live on, and your painting still inspires.