BFI Southbank: William Hartnell

DOCTOR WHO AT 50 - THE FIRST DOCTOR:

'AN UNEARTHLY CHILD'

 

The BFI's stunning artwork for their 50th anniversary season. (Courtesy BFI)

BFI Southbank, NFT 1, Saturday 12 January 2013

 

The British Film Institute’s year-long celebration of Doctor Who’s 50^th anniversary gets under way with the screening of the very first story.

If ever you wanted an indication of what a multi-media institution Doctor Who has now become, it was to be found in the three film crews and various radio and internet journalists covering the British Film Institute Southbank’s first Doctor Who at 50 event. According to BFI staff, they could have sold it out four times over, and February’s presentation of ‘The Tomb of the Cybermen’ is already booked up. For a long time enthusiast this is brilliant; almost unbelievable, when you think how far the programme fell from favour in the 1980s. I couldn’t help wondering whether the series would be getting this much media attention if it hadn’t come back 2005, but it’s a safe bet that the loyalty and affection Doctor Who generates would still have seen the NFT1 auditorium packed to capacity for the screening of the first story, ‘An Unearthly Child’.            

First up, in front of the BFI’s stylish montage of all the Doctors projected on the big screen, presenters Dick Fiddy and Justin Johnson welcomed heavy-hitters Mark Gatiss and Executive Producer Caroline Skinner, who informed the audience that on behalf of the BBC it was a “privilege and a pleasure” to be associated with the BFI’s year-long festival and she was “utterly delighted” with the many “exciting treats in store” to be revealed throughout the year.

Hosts Justin Johnson and Dick Fiddy
with guest Mark Gatiss. (Courtesy BFI)

Steven Moffat would have loved to have been there, Skinnner said, but he was chained to his computer writing something-or-other that was going to be seen in November. Mark Gatiss admitted he should have been chained to his, but revealed that he was about to complete the final draft of An Adventure in Space and Time, the much anticipated drama about the origins of the show. Amusingly, considering the various titles applied to Doctor Who’s first story, Gatiss had seen his drama given three different titles on BBC documentation; nothing changes, it seems. Concluding with a short speech, he stated that whatever the first story was called, “it’s special, intangible and magical – [and] still brilliant.”

As the titles for ‘An Unearthly Child’ rolled, I remembered the first time I’d seen it, at the Doctor Who Appreciation Society’s second convention in 1978, when I was 14. There’s been a helluva lot of water under the bridge since then, both for me and the series. But that’s part of the appeal of the show: for good or ill, you can map the different stages of your life through it. Watching the first episode on the big screen again 34 years later, its power hadn’t diminished a bit. The original signature tune, like nothing heard on television before or since, and the eerily expressionistic title sequence, suggest horror rather than science fiction, a stylistic theme carried through to the creepy junkyard set, foreboding incidental music and otherworldliness of Susan. And the moment William Hartnell appears as a vaguely sinister old man, he completely owns the screen.

In a break between the second and third episodes, sound designer Brian Hodgson and vision mixer Clive Doig, two men responsible for the success of Doctor Who’s initial impact as much as anyone, were asked to the front of the stage for a short interview. It was revealed that composer Ron Grainer was talked into writing the Doctor Who theme by the Radiophonic Workshop’s Desmond Briscoe, as Grainer didn’t want to do any more signature tunes. When he heard Delia Derbyshire’s remarkable realisation, he said “Jeez, Delia, did I write that?!” Her reply: “Most of it, Ron.” Doig also mentioned William Hartnell’s rather unusual ideas about a global “steel conspiracy.” (No, me neither).

After the final episodes, which were notable for the implied violence of the animal attack on the caveman Za (Derek Newark) and the actual violence of the climatic fight between him and the villainous Kal (Jeremy Young), Doctor Who’s first bad guy took the stage in the illustrious company of ‘An Unearthly Child’’s director Waris Hussein, William Hartnell’s granddaughter and biographer Jessica Carney, Season Three script editor Donald Tosh and original companion actors William Russell (Ian Chesterton) and Carole Ann Ford (Susan Foreman, the unearthly child herself).

Back together after 50 years: director Waris Hussein
with Carole Ann Ford (Susan) and William Russell (Ian
Chesterton). (Courtesy BFI)

The discussion was by turns affectionate, proud and good humoured, with Young in particular, who as far as I know hasn’t been interviewed before, proving very amusing, exclaiming to Carole Ann, “Fifty years and you haven’t changed a bit!” and revealing that his bad temperedness as Kal was exaggerated by an outbreak of sand fleas on the set. Hussein admitted to being “a reluctant recruit” at the beginning, but was convinced the story could be done by its innovative young producer, Verity Lambert. After watching his episodes on the big screen again, he professed to “being happy to be part of it”, a point elaborated on by Russell who declared unequivocally “I thought it was great... Everybody took it very seriously. We believed in it.” Ford revealed that she left the show because the character as promised to her wasn’t adhered to, while Tosh told some amusing anecdotes about the chaotic production of Doctor Who’s third series.

Touchingly, the panel were unanimous in their praise and admiration for Hartnell, with Hussein in particular praising his “dangerous and unpredictable” performance, and Carney highlighting the delight of a man known for playing hard-bitten figures being able to start with “something of a blank slate” and create a three dimensional character for children. A last question from the audience about Lambert, “the first important female producer”, brought equally unreserved praise from the assembled guests for the woman who started it all.

The event ended on a forward-looking, upbeat note when Russell and Ford were asked that if they were invited to appear in November’s anniversary special, they would agree? On their affirmative “Yes”, there was a rousing, valedictory round of applause from the auditorium.        

As the nostalgia-warmed audience filed out, I reflected that there had been a lot of love in the room for my favourite old TV show. We’ve got 11 more of these events to go, so long may it continue.

Carole Ann looks to the future?  (Courtesy BFI)

'DON'T CALL ME CRAZY', BBC3, 9pm 1 JULY

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMONDS

Part of BBC3’s I’m Not Mad season, designed to raise awareness and understanding of mental illness in young people, Don’t Call Me Crazy is an honest, compulsively watchable piece of reality TV.

Beth, who has an eating disorder, with two of her carers.
(Image: BBC)

I was diagnosed as bipolar five years ago. Before that, since I was 30, life had see sawed between 6 months feeling hyper – getting up at 3am to start work, with a day’s graft done by the time most other people were stumbling out of the bedroom – and six months horribly depressed, when I’d stay in bed for days and hardly eat anything. Because my symptoms weren’t extreme (I never ran down the road naked believing I was Jesus), my bipolar disorder was hard to diagnose. Now, thanks to the right medication – at last – I’ve had a very stable four years, I’m aware now when things go awry and I do still have some bad days. In the past, however, when my depression got really out of hand, I’d voluntarily put myself in secure mental 
health hospitals.

Filmed over a year in Manchester’s McGuinnes Unit, Don’t Call Me Crazy completely nails the atmosphere of being a mental patient. The lack of privacy, the boredom – nearly everyone smoked in the places I was in, although none of the teenagers in McGuinness appear to – and the sadness tempered with hope and humour. Don’t Call Me Crazy’s non judgemental lens is to be applauded, offering viewers a privileged insight into what unhappy, ill people go through.

The second programme centred on three girls. Kristal (14), who for six years has been seeing people and animals who aren’t there. At the last count, there were 75. Jill (16) suffers from depression and mood swings. She once escaped from the unit by smashing open a locked door and, like a lot of the patients in McGuinness, self harms. Like Jill, Beth (17) was in the first episode. Outwardly a funny, bubbly, pretty girl from a loving home, one day a voice appeared in her head that told her she was fat (she isn’t) and she stopped eating. She’s been in the unit for three months and because her appetite hasn’t improved, she’s now been Sectioned.

Forget The Voice, The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent’s nauseating voyeurism, this is what ‘reality’ television should be for: breaking down ignorance and prejudice through a sometimes painfully honest look into regular people’s lives. Don’t Call Me Crazy features some unforgettable, searing moments of real life – the brave anguish of Kristal’s adopted parents as they try to understand her delusions; Jill’s despair when she’s told she’s not well enough to go home for Christmas; Beth standing alone at the end of a corridor, blank faced, at the news that her tribunal has rejected her request to resume home visits. At the other end of the corridor, Jill is happily squealing, jumping around and hugging people as she’s about to be taken off her Section. One emotional extreme to the other: just a normal day on a mental 
health ward.   

I can’t say enough in praise of the understanding and care that the staff of these units offer, and the documentary rightly celebrates these unsung heroes of mental health treatment. They have to deal with everything from patients singing them a special song, to sitting patiently for twenty minutes encouraging an anorexia sufferer to take one sip from a nutrition drink. It’s not a job I could do, even though I’d like to think
I could.

I wasn’t diagnosed as mentally ill when I was a teenager, but looking back I’m sure that’s when things started to get a bit screwed up. Today’s young people are extremely fortunate to have special units like McGuinness, where potentially life damaging illnesses can be dealt with early in life. By the end of Monday night’s film, Jill was improving as she rebuilt her relationship with her mum and Kristal was discharged, as the medical team had decided that her fantasy world wasn’t a result of psychosis. Beth, however, was still on her Section.

Please support the I’m Not Mad season by watching the last Don’t Call Me Crazy next Monday. You’ll be educated, informed and enlightened.

Glastonbury Festival 3

ARMCHAIR GLASTO: DAY 3

Glastonbury Festival 2013, 28-30 June

The XX: where's Robert Smith when you need him? (Image:BBC)










In terms of music, this has been the best Glastonbury for some time. My TV and sofa are fired up for the final time on this three
day weekend.
 

5pm, BBC2. Lauren Laverne and Mark Radcliffe start off with a montage of the fun so far, including Elvis Costello, the Stones and Primal Scream doing ‘Rocks’. Oh look, there’s Haim again. Sunday afternoon promises the traditional ‘legend’ slot, to be occupied this year by one Kenny Rogers.

TOM ODELL. Nick Drake enthused, emotionally intense singer/songwriter. For someone so young, I can’t get over the maturity of his lyrics or the power of his voice. His first LP goes in at number 1 today.

BASSEKOU NAGATE (I think: acoustic). Pleasant enough African world music, but my attention starts to wander.

THE CONGOS. Graceful elder statesmen of reggae. Ideal for a sunny Sunday afternoon. So good they nearly finish their set 2 minutes early.

VILLAGERS. First pleasant surprise of the day. Clever wordplay: ‘Look at the birds, look at the bees. Madam, it’s all the same to me.’ Song ‘Waves’ builds and builds to a respectable indie wig-out. Lauren: ‘Downside, no Kenny Rogers.’

FIRST AID KIT (acoustic). Great name. Perfect, crystal clear harmonies on duet ‘Emmylou’.

PUBLIC IMAGE LIMITED. The magisterial John Lydon is the Queen Mother of punk. A triumphant ‘Rise’ conquers the Other Stage as Lydon gets the crowd to sing ‘Anger is an energy’. My life would have been very different without this man. Just for the record, this is how to do soft metal convincingly.  

KENNY ROGERS. ‘The impeccably groomed facial furniture’ (Radcliffe) of Mr Rogers is so legendary he gets a clips retrospective before taking to the Pyramid Stage for ‘a post-roast portion of hits.’ Helluva tight boogie woogie backing band. Funny and self aware, he describes Glasto as ‘a picnic’ and, charmingly, says ‘I’m really not used to playing for such small audiences’. But, 65 albums! That’s even more than The Fall (I think).

You can’t fault the C&W melancholy of ‘Ruby’ and ‘Coward of the County’. Is there such a thing as C&W psychedelia? If there isn’t, Mr Rogers has just invented it with ‘I Just Dropped in (to See what Condition my Condition was in).’ ‘We Got Tonight’ is rather beautiful. ‘The Gambler’ is a masterpiece. There are Kenny beardalikes in the crowd. The songs are short and just keep on coming: ‘Lucille’, ‘Lady’…There are a trio of Dolly Partonalikes in the crowd, complete with a framed picture of Dolly. They go mental to ‘Islands in the Stream’.

Has Mr Rogers had some work done? Surely not.

VAMPIRE WEEKEND. Radcliffe’s on form today. VM might not be ‘a great thrutching rock beast’, but their mix of African rhythms and indie pop sensibilities is by now a natural in stadiums, somehow. Quirky songs titles too, like ‘Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa’ and ‘Ya Hey’, which is a bit of a classic.

Sir Bruce Forsyth is on fine form, saying ‘what the hell I’m doing here I’ve no idea at all. I’m gonna try to rock and I’m gonna try to roll.’ His national treasure status increases.

ROLLING STONES (revisited). ‘Glastonbury Girl’, a song not shown last night. Rewrite of an oldie, with the amusing line ‘now she’s gone to see Primal Scream’.

At 8pm, I nip over to BBC3.

OF MONSTERS AND MEN. A really pleasant surprise. From Iceland, complete with a Bjorkalike on acoustic guitar. Big choruses. Impressive John Bull sideburns (not on the Bjorkalike). Full marks to the trumpet player for tuning up. In short, one for the Fairclough Towers playlist.

GABRIELLE APLIN (acoustic). Another impossibly young and gifted singer/songwriter. Suitably mellow for 8.35pm.

LAURA MVULA (revisited). On The Park stage today. Admirable, but not my thing. Plus points for a snatch of Bob Marley’s ‘One Love’.

JESSIE WARE. Endearing. Swings between a cool, jazzy singing persona and a jolly hockey sticks enthusiasm for the occasion, crooning to one of the bouncers and wondering whether or not to climb the lighting rig. ‘How lovely!’

EDITORS. Still doing their Joy Division-meets-early-U2 thing. I almost hope they do a cover of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’.

TOM ODELL (revisited). Pretty bloody amazing. Ripping cover of ‘Honky Tonk Women’. You’ve got to love him when, slightly dazed, he says, ‘I just found out my album’s number 1.’ There’s some Coldplay DNA in there somewhere.

LIANNE LA HAVAS. The most original voice among the female singer/songwriters at Glastonbury this weekend. Slick, stylish and I wouldn’t mind hearing more.

THE SMASHING PUMPKINS. Where’ve they been? ‘Tonight Tonight’ roars and soars like it’s 1995. ‘Bullet’ is monumental. I want to marry the bassist.  

THE XX. I blow out Mumford and Sons for ‘one of the finest bands in the world,’ apparently. Never heard anything by The XX until today but have always been intrigued by their arty, monochrome image. Yes, Ian Curtis and The Cure circa Faith would be proud, but The XX are compelling in their own right. After a rather intense weekend, for me their sparse electronic beats and skeletal guitar chords are the ideal way to bring the curtain down on my virtual Glastonbury 2013.

In the mesmerising light show, the female guitarist and the male bassist circle each other, sometimes touching, in a hypnotic dance that looks like a gothic mating ritual. It suits the gloomy romance of the lyrics, in songs like ‘Fiction’, ‘VCR’, ‘Islands’ and ‘Far Nearer’. Smartly, the bassist has a slightly Chris Rea croon. I want to marry the guitarist.

FUNNIEST MOMENT OF THE DAY: Presenter Greg James – ‘BBC3, meeting the weirdos, so you don’t have to.’

And finally…

I’m prepared to bet that all the acts I didn’t rate over this weekend won’t be around in ten years’ time. Primal Scream will. Kenny Rogers will, God willing. I’d like to think The Strypes will. Elvis Costello, PiL, Johnny Marr, Nile Rodgers, Vampire Weekend, Chase & Status all will. Maybe even the Stones. Arctic Monkeys and The XX  – possibly. The interesting thing is, most of these acts have already been going for over ten years. Any significance in that? As the paid up, card carrying middle-aged man that I am, I think it suggests that staying power in today’s generation of bands is spread thin. Yes, the music business today is very different to when the Primals, Lydon et al started, and it’s getting harder to make your mark, let alone sustain a career. But much as I like Two Door Cinema Club, Jessie Ware and Rizzle Kicks, I can’t see them going the distance; to be fair, maybe they don’t wan’t to. Where, though, are the next Smiths, Suede or Blur? Johnny Marr’s version of ‘Bigmouth Strikes Again’ got one of the biggest cheers of the weekend. Draw your own conclusion.

Or, maybe, rock’s not dead and I've just got old.

Glastonbury Festival 2

ARMCHAIR GLASTO: DAY 2

Glastonbury Festival 2013, 28-30 June



Ronnie, Sir Mick, Keef and Charlie. Haim not pictured.
(Image: Guardian)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another enjoyable day in front of my virtual Worthy Farm. Two days in and it's looking like one of the best Glastonburys for

a while.

 

No porridgey soft metal today, thankfully. The day begins on BBC3…    

LAURA MVULA. Well done orchestral angst pop. Striking singer, in the same ball park as Florence and the Machine. ‘That’s Alright’ is a great song, but can’t help thinking of Eartha Kitt for some reason.

HAIM. Hard to judge. Three sisters with an engaging mash up of ‘80s synths, call and response choruses and indie rock. The lady Killers?

NOAH AND THE WHALE. 4 albums, apparently. Smartly reference everyone from Talking Heads to Springsteen via Hothouse Flowers, but too slick for me. ‘Tonight’s the Night’ is rather good.

BEN HOWARD. OK, worthy singer/songwriter stuff. I thought he was more entertaining in his off stage interview beforehand.

THE STRYPES. Bloody hell! The new Vaccines with a dose of Dr Feelgood. On ‘Blue Collar Jane’, the singer is Lee Brilleaux. They’re fifteen. School’s out.

TOM ODELL (unplugged). Astonishingly mature performance of superior ballad ‘Another Love’ by singer who looks about 12. Headlining the John Peel Stage tomorrow night.

MAVERICK SABER. With a cover of Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall’ on a beautiful summer’s day, he’s won. But mate – you’re not black. Besides, whatever happened to
Finlay Quaye?

PRIMAL SCREAM (with HAIM). Mr Gillespie’s pink suit is brilliant. ‘Rocks’ is the best Rolling Stones song they never wrote. Immediately start leaping around the front room. Guesting, the lady Killers fit right in. How bizarre is it to get the Scream to warm up for the Stones, when a fair bit of their set riffs on the headliners’ back catalogue? Exhibit B: ‘Country Girl’. ‘Rocks’ gets another outing later on BBC2, together with ‘Movin’ on Up’ (channelling ‘Sympathy for the Devil’), ‘Swastika Eyes’ and ‘It’s Alright, It’s OK’, again with the seemingly ubiquitous Haim sisters.

The BBC have obviously spent a fortune on The White Queen because they’re even flogging it in the middle of their Glastonbury coverage.

RUDIMENTAL. Another black and white feel good band, with a blonde singer who’s as cute as a button. Good beats and synths, but the trumpet player should have tuned up. Add to the CD list.

HAIM (unplugged). This band’s management obviously have something on the BBC, as this is the third time they’ve been on since 7 o’clock. Haim’s first album’s not even out for another two weeks. ‘Let’s Do This’ wins me over. The indie Hanson.

TWO DOOR CINEMA CLUB. Healthy indie pop. Terrific haircut and suit on the front man. I hope my niece will now play the CDs I bought her. On ‘Someday’, the guitars are growling. ‘That was pretty epic,’ the Annoyingly Chirpy Presenter says.

EXAMPLE. ‘You’ll be glad to know all the shit songs are out of the way.’ How on Earth did this charisma vacuum get so far up the running order? ‘All the Wrong Places’, Mr Example? You’re not kidding.

Over to BBC2 for the main event...

ROLLING STONES. On the cover of the Radio Times, the Stones insist that playing Glastonbury is ‘not about the money.’ Like hell. Why, then, did you initially want to restrict the BBC coverage to three songs? Come to that, why are you charging obscene ticket prices for Hyde Park?

Whatever. In the end, it’s the music that matters. The Stones might idle along in second gear now, and at times it sounds like the relaxed on-stage jam is going to fall over into noodly self indulgence. But there’s Sir Mick, unnaturally thin and an accomplished blues harp player, bouncing around the stage like he’s made of rubber. There’s Charlie, Keef and Ronnie, laying down a slick, sleazy strut. On ‘Sympathy for the Devil’, Sir Mick is all in black and black fur, the silhouette of Turner in Performance, a shiver-down-the-spine moment. ‘Start Me Up’, ‘Tumbling Dice’, a throaty blast of saxophone on ‘Brown Sugar’… with a combined age of over 300, the Stones really are living legends, the bluesy, still rolling id of The Beatles.

Predictably, the encore’s worth waiting for. ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ with two choirs and the Pyramid Stage audience singing their lungs out. For the closer, an urgent ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’ with a barrage of fireworks. Brilliant. Mick Taylor’s in the group hug at the end, too.  

CHASE & STATUS. Alternative headliners on The Other Stage. That’s how to do the rock/rap/dance crossover. Sampling The Doors doesn’t hurt either.

THE STRYPES (acoustic). ‘Blue Collar Jane’. They’re supporting Aztec Monkeys on tour. Enough said.

By this time of the morning, I’m surprised that Haim aren’t reading the
news as well.

HURTS. Headlining the John Peel Stage. Gothy, with a singer who looks like he uses the same tailor as Dave Vanian. Get a bit distracted by the dancers. Another CD purchase is on the cards.

PUBLIC ENEMY. OK, I appreciate hip hop, but it’s still not for me.

JOSEPHINE (acoustic). ‘What a Day’. Singer/songwriter territory again, but good.

ALABAMA SHAKES. Good ole rock ‘n’ roll, with a singer channelling Janis Joplin. The bassist is wearing dungarees, something you don’t see every day. Not usually my kind of thing, but on the strength of these songs I wouldn’t mind hearing an album.

JOHNNY MARR. Love this man and always will, for obvious reasons. A new song and an old one – ‘Bigmouth Strikes Again’. The Man does surprisingly authentic Morrissey-style vocals.  

RODRIGUEZ. Another legend, but he looks like I’m starting to feel. It’s 1.25am.

EVERYTHING EVERYTHING. Smart, unusual. Reminded of Gang of 4, but bed’s not far away.

LONDON GRAMMAR (acoustic). Lovely, mellow stuff.

SAVAGES. All in black and rather marvellous. Siouxsie and the Banshees and Joy Division are definitely on their list of influences. CD please, and…

Goodnight.

FUNNIEST MOMENT OF THE DAY: David Tennant silencing Coldplay-hating Noel Fielding on What a Load of Buzzcocks with a blast of ‘I Will Fix You’.

Glastonbury Festival 1

ARMCHAIR GLASTO: DAY 1

'What a scummy man...' The Arctics show Glastonbury how it's done.
(Image: Dave J Hogan/Getty Images)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Glastonbury Festival 2013, 28-30 June

 

An out of touch middle-aged man dips his toe in the waters of modern popular music.

I’ve been to Glastonbury. Well, to be strictly accurate I’ve watched the first day’s musical offerings on a combination of BBC2 and BBC3. As a 49 year-old man who, these days, doesn’t know his One Direction from his Palma Violets, below are my impressions of 2013’s pop landscape from the reassuring comfort of the Fairclough Towers living room.    

RITA ORA. I have no idea who she is or how many albums she’s done. Great voice, even if she has a soft metal backing band. Overall: hmm. Reminded of Pink and Avril Lavigne.

JAKE BUGG. More like it. Distinctive, soulful voice and Mr Bugg can hold the attention of a Pyramid Stage audience with only an acoustic guitar and songs to fall in and out of love to.

LUMINEERS. A bit of Mumford and Sons with a dash of Arcade Fire. Fun. Can really get a crowd going.

PROFESSOR GREEN. More soft metal, this time with samples and rapping. The moral here, Mr Green, is never employ a back up singer who’s better than you are. I have to say, the call-and-response stuff gets a bit wearing – ‘Glastonbury, make some noooooooooise!!!’ – but it’s probably more fun if you’re there and off your face.

SOLANGE. Another female singer, colourful personality and colourful clothes. The sort of thing I’d jig along to on the day but never actively listen to again. Good pop, though.

BASTILLE. Indie reggae, anyone? So far, the only act that don’t sound like something else that’s been done better. Verging on Muse, but I prefer this lot. Plus points for a song about Twin Peaks.

RIZZLE KICKS. Funny and infectious. Remind me of a 2-Tone band. The two singers are all over the stage and the other members of the band, covering the trumpet player’s head with a t-shirt. On the strength of ‘Mama Do the Hump’, the one song shown, I’d buy the album and go and see them.

DIZZEE RASCAL. Rap has never done it for me, I’m afraid, but just as I was thinking Mr Rascal would be better off in a smaller, sweaty indoor venue, he suddenly becomes a convincing stadium act on ‘Fix Up, Look Sharp’. He really soars when it gets dark, helped by a good light show and a virtual duet with Robbie Williams.

DAUGHTER (acoustic). Shades of Cowboy Junkies and the Cocteau Twins. Clever and dark lyrics: ‘If you’re in love you’re the lucky one/As most of us are bitter about someone.’ As the BBC3 presenter pointed out, Daughter could be Your New Favourite Band.

MILES KANE. The new Weller. Sharp mod stylings and a Union Flag tunic. Love it. I’d buy the album (albums?). He looks like a star already.

Over to BBC2 and the presenting duo for grown ups, Mark Radcliffe and Lauren Laverne. Oh, Lauren. If only things had been different…

JOHN NEWMAN (acoustic). Vocally, a bit Roland Gift. Soulful. Next.

PALMA VIOLETS. Dirty guitar riffs, rowdy, but the feeling nags that they’ll be forgotten in a year’s time. Lauren: ‘They play it punk but the drummer’s obsessed with Abba.’

CHIC featuring NILE RODGERS. Immaculately dressed in white and so tight, they know how to put on a show, evidenced by the synchronised swaying of the brass section. Sadly, only one song, ‘Everybody Dance’, which Stuart Maconie described as ‘like pop music having a dream about itself.’ I wish I’d thought
of that.

ARCTIC MONKEYS. At last, a band I own CDs of. From the scruffy indie kids of
‘I Bet You look good on the Dance Floor’, they now behave like stars, though I’m slightly confused when it looks for a moment as if Alex Turner’s been replaced by David Tennant. The Monkeys belong to one of my favourite traditions in British popular music, the lineage of Weller, Elvis Costello, Morrissey and Jarvis Cocker, in whose hands twisted human dramas are writ large for guitar and drums. If you will, Arctic Monkeys are now the anti-U2.

Sartorially, all of them have made what my Mum calls ‘an effort’ with no leisurewear to be seen, unlike earlier in the day. It’s pure class when Alex stops to comb his hair and full marks to the rhythm guitarist for wearing a three piece. Like the unusual but confident front man Turner now is, he’s relaxed enough to tease the audience with a snatch of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’ and, with the spectators in the palm of his hand, get them to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to his Mum, Penny. At the end of a furious, perfectly paced set, Miles Kane was back for the last song ‘505’ and then the Arctics were gone, job done. As Mr Radcliffe astutely remarked, ‘[I’ve] rarely seen such mastery of the main stage.’ Class.

PORTISHEAD. More leisurewear, but forgivable because it’s Portishead. You couldn’t get two more contrasting headliners than the Bristolians and Arctic Monkeys, with Portishead’s spectral soundscapes calling to mind an electronic Velvet Underground and Nico. It’s late night music, which is appropriate as it’s now gone 12am.

K.T. TUNSTALL (acoustic). Pleasant enough, but I’m tired now.

THE HORRORS. Time for bed.

FUNNIEST MOMENT OF THE DAY: When DJ Jo Whiley asked Alex Turner if his Mum was really there when the crowd sang ‘Happy Birthday’, he replied that if she hadn’t been ‘it would have been a weird lie.’

BFI Southbank: Colin Baker

DOCTOR WHO AT 50 - THE SIXTH DOCTOR:

'THE TWO DOCTORS'

"Snap!" The Doctor (Patrick Troughton and Colin Baker).
(Image courtesy BFI)

 BFI Southbank, NFT 1, Saturday 15 June 2013

The most controversial period in Doctor Who’s long history is given a deserved reappraisal in the June offering of the BFI’s 50^th anniversary events.  

I didn’t like the Colin Baker era. Nothing against the man himself, but I thought the Sixth Doctor’s character was misconceived, his costume an absolute nadir in terms of design and, on the whole, his TV stories were like bad comic strips. I was at college in 1985 and Doctor Who suddenly seemed creaky and old fashioned, not fitting with student demos, reading the NME and going to see The Smiths. In fact, I felt Michael Grade was pretty much justified in taking the programme off for eighteen months when he did.

Nearly thirty years later and it’s the BFI’s Sixth Doctor event. Despite my view of Doctor Who in the mid ‘80s, it was pleasantly surprising to see a young girl avidly reading the Target paperback of ‘The Two Doctors’ as she waited for the screening to start, as well as overhear some other children excited about seeing the Doctor who “looks like a clown.” It seems any era of the programme can work its magic on a new audience.

The Sixth Doctor in THAT coat. (Image: BBC)

A regrettable first for this event was that it was the first time neither a companion or a Doctor has attended. Host Justin Johnson, in his customary witty way, read out an apology from companion actress Nicola Bryant, prevented from coming by commitments to the play The Trouble with Old Lovers; Colin’s absence was simply explained by a conflicting schedule. Perhaps Baker was just being tactful. Ever since his script editor Eric Saward vented his frustrations about working on Doctor Who to the magazine Starburst, the two haven’t shared a stage together. As Saward was one of today’s guests, Colin’s absence was understandable.

As actor Frazer Hines (Jamie McCrimmon) later pointed out, watching ‘The Two Doctors’ – one of Colin Baker’s better stories – in a large audience made you realise how funny it is. (Regular attendee Samira Ahmed certainly thought so, judging by the way she was hooting throughout the screening, along with everyone else). The story is full of black comedy, and while it lacks the visual panache of ‘The Caves of Androzani’, the pleasure lies in watching some delightful performances.

John Stratton’s cannibalistic chef Shockeye is great piece of character acting, by turns amusing, risqué and menacing, while Jacqueline Pearce delivers a theatrical villainess in the Servalan-from-Blake’s 7 mould. In a story full of writer Robert Holmes’s trademark double acts, James Saxon as the foppish between-jobs actor Oscar Botcherby and Carmen Gomez as his authentically Spanish friend Anita (are they or aren’t they? Probably not) are funny and touching. Clinton Greyn and Tim Raynham, as some rather tall Sontarans, have some good moments too. The writers of ‘new Who’’s Strax have clearly taken their cue from ‘The Two Doctors’, as the story goes with the idea that the Sontarans are hilarious because they take themselves so seriously.  

Needless to say, the returning Patrick Troughton as the Second Doctor and Hines as his companion Jamie are as watchable as ever. I don’t really like multi-Doctor stories, as before ‘The Two Doctors’ the writers had been hamstrung by having to write for three or five leading men, but some thought about how best to use the two protagonists has gone into Holmes’s script. The story begins with the Second Doctor and Jamie (in back and white, too), re-establishing them as central characters as they drive the story forward for the first five minutes or so. From there, the story alternates between two different time zones for the Second and Sixth Doctors until the latter comes to the aid of his earlier self on Earth. Clever stuff.   

"Arthur Daley in space", Sabalom Glitz (Tony Selby).
(Image: BBC)

After episode 1, co-host Dick Fiddy introduced costume designer Graham Flynn, who joined the entertainment business after he was inspired by correspondence with the Doctor Who production team in the 1980s, “when you could actually read the names at the end of the programme.” Although Colin wasn’t present, his coat of many colours was – modelled by a clearly chuffed Mr Fiddy – and Flynn’s description of the work that went into designing and making it had me appreciating the creative process behind the haute couture a lot more, particularly as the decision to make the coat “more circus like” was made by producer John Nathan-Turner, not costume designer Pat Godfrey.

Also present and asked to the front of the auditorium was enthusiast Steven Ricks, wearing his own, very authentic replica Sixth Doctor costume, which clearly impressed Flynn. As Ricks had evidently spent a lot of money, time and effort on the outfit, it was another example of how the Colin Baker era has fired people’s imaginations. 

After the Sixth and Second Doctors had vanished into the time vortex, courtesy of the BBC/2 Entertain a clip was shown from the forthcoming second part of the documentary about BBC Television Centre. Presented by Yvette Fielding, it featured the always good value trio of Mark Strickson, Janet Fielding and Peter Davison reminiscing about their time making Doctor Who. Snippets from video tapes salvaged from Nathan-Turner’s personal archive, capturing the studio recording of the story ‘Earthshock’, were particularly memorable for showing Beryl Reid complaining about being kept waiting all day and the set falling down at a crucial moment.

Next up was the customary panel of guests, this time consisting of the impossibly young looking Hines, actor Tony Selby (Sabalom Glitz), script editor Eric Saward and visual effects designer Mike Kelt. For a period of the series that was so turbulent behind the scenes, what impressed about this quartet was their enthusiasm for Doctor Who at a time when its standing within the BBC was at its lowest ebb. Hines entertained with funny stories from the set of ‘The Two Doctors’, while Selby spoke of how astute Nathan-Turner was in spotting “Arthur Daley in space” Glitz as a character with potential, offering him a return appearance after just half a day’s filming. Saward, apologising for ranting about a complacent BBC management – which earned him a round of applause – talked about his frustration at attempting to improve the series “when you’re not getting any advice.” Kelt remained proud of the magnificent opening sequence from ‘The Trial of a Time Lord’, which looked fantastic on the big screen, highlighting it as the first Motion Control effect the BBC did. Even though, typically for Doctor Who, the Visual Effects team “pulled a lot of favours” to get it made.

The event over ran (again), a sure sign that everyone was enjoying themselves. Significantly, today’s screening has made me reappraise my attitude to mid-1980s Who, which is the great thing about this BFI season: there’s always a different perspective to think about.

Doctor Who in a nutshell, really.

V&A David Bowie Exhibition

DAVID BOWIE WAS

David Bowie is exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum,
22 March - 11 August 2013

 

"I was walking/Down the high street/When I heard footsteps behind me..."
(Image: clashmusic.com)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"There is no authoritative voice. There are only multiple readings." Bowie, 1995

The above quote opens the Victoria and Albert Museum’s exhibition celebrating the career of David Robert Jones – a.k.a. Bowie – born 8 January 1947, the same day as Elvis Presley. In one of the displays, the two singers appear side by side on a 1973 magazine cover promoting “the story of rock and roll”, which, the publication believed, began with Presley’s raw rock and roll in the 1950s and ended with Bowie’s sci-fi soundscapes in the 1970s.

There’s a lot of truth in this claim. Bowie’s space rock mash up of Anthony Newley, the Velvet Underground and the Rolling Stones, filtered through composers like Kurt Weill and sung by man who looked like he’d been beamed down from the future, was as far from rock and roll’s humble, bluesy beginnings as it was possible to get. Bowie turned pop music into an art form, using different characters, musical styles and, crucially, video to make, as he later said, “multiple readings” possible. That’s why he was the world’s most singular and sophisticated pop culture icon. Was – not is, as the V&A’s exhibition tells you at every opportunity. 

Everything has its time. That the man who wrote a song inspired by the Space Race (which in the 1960s was the very definition of cutting edge) has a retrospective in a museum at all suggests he’s now part of history. There’s nothing wrong with that, when the effect Bowie had on music, fashion and gender politics between 1969 and 1983 was so transformative and far reaching. Appropriately, the exhibition charts his odyssey as a pop cultural pioneer in a well thought out combination of concise detail, elegant staging and multi-media spectacle.

It’s exhaustingly comprehensive, beginning with Bowie’s birth in Brixton and upbringing in post-World War II Bromley and ending with his 2013 comeback album The Next Day. You can’t fault the context-heavy presentation; the opening sections illustrate the influences that shaped the young David’s creative world view, from the mental illness in his mother’s side of the family, his flirtation with Buddhism to Anthony Newley’s surreal TV vehicle The Strange World of Gurney Slade. What’s striking throughout is how focused on his art Bowie always has been. He was as meticulous designing futuristic costumes for his early band Dave and the Bowmen as he would be storyboarding the ‘Ashes to Ashes’ video in 1980, and his revealing hand written notes and drawings are one of the exhibition’s highlights.

"We know Major Tom's a junkie..."
(Image: Brian Duffy)

As you wander round, you listen to a soundtrack provided through your own set of headphones, the digital player synchronizing with whichever display you approach, so you can listen to the soundtracks to the videos for ‘Starman’ and ‘Boys Keep Swinging’, and the rather disapproving voiceover on a Nationwide report about the Ziggy Stardust tour, in your own multi-media bubble. This is particularly effective with a display of television monitors that recalls one used by the alien Newton (played by Bowie) in the film The Man Who Fell to Earth. Stand on the relevant square mapped out on the floor and you are switched in to the video being played on the corresponding TV, be it ‘Jump they Say’ or ‘The Stars (Are out Tonight)’. It’s an interactive jukebox that wouldn’t be out of place in one of Bowie’s stage shows.

One benefit of making the effort to get to the V&A at opening time on a Wednesday morning is avoiding the crowds. I had to go back for a second look as on the Saturday I first went, it was so packed that it wasn’t possible to look at everything properly. This was particularly the case with the room showcasing Bowie’s Berlin period at 155 Haupstrasse and his collaborations with Brian Eno. Full of people patiently shuffling past the exhibits, you got no sense of how the displays fitted together. With the right amount of visitors, you could appreciate how the graphics showing Bowie’s creative map of Berlin integrated with a geographical map of the city, as well as how the ambient electronica of Low, “Heroes” and Lodger was inspired by the brooding monochrome streets of the frontline in the Cold War.

The endearing thing about Bowie is that when he does put a foot wrong he does it spectacularly, and the exhibition doesn’t shy away from that. Exhibit A: his 1969 short film The Mask. In an attempt to tell a story through mime, his awkward attempt to be the new Lindsay Kemp immediately calls to mind Kenny Everett’s hopeless comedy mime artist from his television show. Exhibit B: whoever compiled the clips for the room showcasing the Thin White Duke’s adventures on the silver screen was clearly struggling. Bowie playing Andy Warhol in a white wig in Basquiat looks just like David Bowie playing Andy Warhol in a white wig, and in the scene chosen from Labyrinth, he delivers a self parody that would make Stella Street’s ersatz Bowie Phil Cornwell proud. In The Prestige, the starman offers a Belgian accent via Bromley and Inspector Clouseau.

"Strung out on lasers and slash back blazers..."
(Image: Brian Duffy)

For me, the exhibition all made sense in the last-but-one-room, where tiered platforms of Bowie’s stage costumes are overlaid with huge gauze screens showing live footage. I was literally rooted to the spot and felt a chill down my spine at two spectacular, defining sequences. The first was from Top of the Pops in 1973 and featured a live version of ‘The Jean Genie’. Firstly, in those days playing live on the BBC’s premier pop show was virtually unheard of; secondly, seeing four gender-blurring sci-fi dandies bashing out proto punk riffs, to an audience seemingly made up of wide-eyed, innocent 16 year-olds, underlined how much of a gulf there was between Bowie’s aesthetic vision and the moribund England of the early 1970s. It was particularly effective when the costumes behind the screen were back-lit in a random sequence to ‘The Jean Genie’’s strutting beat; with the video and the music, this display summed up what a towering, original presence Bowie was.

The second sequence brings us back to how powerful the idea of multiple readings can be. I missed the opening credits for the film of Bowie’s performing ‘Heroes’ with a no-frills stage set and large backing band at some point in the 2000s. As the song built and built, the camera kept cutting to the audience to show, unusually, spectators mainly made up New York police and fire-fighters. With a shock I suddenly realised that the performance was from a benefit show put on for the emergency crews who attended 9/11. With that knowledge, ‘Heroes’ becomes a completely different song, but the lyrics fitted the circumstances perfectly. It says a lot about Bowie the man that he would do something as emotive as this while turning down the offer to turn the song into an obvious anthem at the 2012 Olympics. Behind all the multi-media games, he clearly has a beating and committed heart.

From there, it was into the final room for a look at the people Bowie has influenced, in a roll-call that includes Michael Clark and Kate Moss, before a browse through the V&A shop which stocks a veritable library of books about Bowie, but only his most recent album. Considering how literate his music is, perhaps that’s as it should be.

The pop and rock landscape, and the world in general to some extent, has largely been remade by the way Bowie conducted the first, trail blazing phase of his career, which is maybe why he’s not as relevant today as he once was; to coin a phase, his work here is done. He can go on releasing albums, like this year’s best-for-a-long-time The Next Day, but in doing so he’s just another veteran rock musician enjoying the dignified twilight of his vocation. Fittingly, David Bowie is reminds us why he was so important and how far, far ahead of his time he really was.

If you haven’t already been, go along to the V&A and watch that man – but avoid Saturdays if possible.