The Grand Budapest Hotel

 The Grand Budapest Hotel

Directed by Wes Anderson

I could praise it forever, but this will be short and sweet, because I have no desire to spoil the story of Wes Anderson's - American Indie's darling- latest masterpiece. We laughed and laughed and laughed. It is absolutely brilliant, a wildly intelligent fairytale for grown ups (especially those with a taste for verse). A feather-light comedy with a difference, it lures you in with its all-star cast of Ralph Fiennes, Tilda Swinton, Jude Law, Lea Seydoux and Edward Norton, but it does not need to. In fact, every element of the film is so aesthetically pleasing, it would probably do just as well without any characters at all. Nevertheless, it is a delightfully witty, deliciously indulgent murder mystery with an edge. Set in a magical luxury hotel on a snowy mountain in fictional Zubrowka, we are swept up into a colourful whirlwind of fun and debauchery with Ralph Fiennes - in his purple uniform - as our guide.

 Described by The Guardian as a 'Cathedral of Eccentricity', this hotel could not be a more dazzling setting for this whimsical tale of art theft and murder. From the crumbling 'spa' where Jude Law bathes in his spectacles to the canyon of a ghastly red dining room, every piece of set is fits perfectly. Juxtaposed with the intense attention to detail throughout the film is the bizarre decision of the director to have every character speak in their natural accent. From Indian to Irish, Russian to American, this bizarre infusion only adds to its eccentricity - as does the random use of profanities interrupting eloquent verse.

 I must get back to the marvellous set. When we are swept into the Patisserie kitchen your mouth truly waters at the sight of the delicate fancies, which are later revealed to be concealing tools used for a quick dash from a ghastly prison.

 The opulent array of costumes grow more fabulous with every scene with the kitsch maid costumes contrasting the purple suit of the lobby boy and the black leather of the sadistic murderer. With a sexual appetite for elderly women dripping in rubies and a passion for discipline as a concierge, the blissfully camp protagonist Gustave H. takes us on an adventure like no other as he sets out to steal his beloved artwork, 'boy with apple' from a family of horrifyingly violent crooks. 

Wes and his cinematographer contrived the characteristic rectilinear camera movements with extraordinary precision and you arrive in every scene as if you'd just received the invitation. Our favourite scene was Gustave's wildly unrealistic escape from prison, which begins with the breaking of iced biscuits and ends with the audience feeling as if they are being twirled on a roller coaster during an accelerated ski chase from a monastery to the edge of a cliff of ice. 

The Grand Budapest Hotel is the perfect blend of strange friendships, flourishing romance, subtle humour and violent crime - this film is not one to miss. In reference to the magnificent Gustave H., it ends with the enchanting line, 'his world had ended long before he entered it. He sustained the illusion with a marvellous grace".

Bristol Arts Festival 2014

The Bristol Arts Festival 2014

Annika Kahr's Concert with the Birds 
& Jeremy Deller's English Magic.

On Monday, there was an overwhelming variety of exhibitions and art installations happening in Bristol to celebrate the Bank Holiday Arts Festival. From a waterslide down Park Street to pop-up Slow Food restaurants, inspirational talks and performance art there was so much to choose from. Its times like this when I am so intensely grateful to be studying Art in a city bursting with such an eclectic range of culture. Our highlight of the Arts Festival was experiencing Annika Kahr’s ‘Concert with the Birds’ in the intimate venue of the 13th century Lord Mayor’s Chapel, Park Street. The idea of watching a pianist and dozens of domesticated caged birds singing in collaboration sounded too enchanting to miss. It was hauntingly beautiful - a very emotional experience. 

The piano music was the recital composer Franz Liszt's melodic 'Preaching to the Birds'. Liszt, the 19th Century Austro-Hungarian pianist and composer, took the literary legend of the Saint as the model for his virtuosic piano piece. This story, which is often illustrated in the arts and has become a form of religious folklore, tells of the following episode: Francis of Assisi, the beggar-friar and founder of the Franciscan Order, gave a sermon before a flock of birds that he came across in a field. As he came closer, the birds didn't fly away, but rather remained in situ, reacting to his words. What is of significance in this story is that Francis thereby believed that not only did humans have souls, but also the entire animal and plant worlds. The consequence being, that each creature had a conscience and was blessed with the ability to understand. Liszt translated this narrative into the language of music, which serves as a model for universal understanding.

At times the high notes of the piano blend with the birdsong and you cannot distinguish between the bird or instrument. The audience sat shoulder to shoulder in tight little pews surrounded by cages of gorgeous white doves, parakeets and a plethora of colourful songbirds. They were delightful, curious creatures that fluttered around their cages, putting on a show for the audience. As we left, we both felt there was a strangely humbling feeling that came from the overwhelming sense of being at one with nature as they sang - despite the lack of spontaneity a walk in the woods might hold. Outside the chapel protestors held signs declaring ‘birds sing in trees, not cages’, but until I find I piano in the forest, I hope many more people can have such a an awe-inspiring, sensory experience. 

We then moved on to see ‘The English Magic’ by Jeremy Deller at the Bristol City Gallery. The exhibition was originally shown in the English Pavilion at ‘La Biennale di Venezia’ and was seen there by more than 350 000 people. Deller’s compilation of art focuses on the roots of British society, making an idiosyncratic, convoluted comment on its cultural and political history, its people, icons, folklore, icons and events. The concepts of real and imagination blend and diverge as you move through the exhibition. He does this by collaborating with a range of British people from prisoners to bird sanctuaries, musicians to archeologists.

At one point you’re faced with wall-mounted rows of Neolithic and Palaeolithic hand axes before being faced by drawings by former soldiers in UK prisons. Some of which are violent and harrowing and reflect the contemporaneous scenes of Northern Irish rioting bomb damage scenes in his photographs, which juxtapose those of David Bowie’s 1972 Ziggy Stardust tour. Bowie himself was looking at the relationship between flamboyant creativity and social change through the idea of ‘character’; for eighteen months between January 1972 and July 1973, he toured the UK as Ziggy Stardust.

 On the wall of room six, a map by Scott King traced the tour's progress in red lines across a thin black outline of the British Isles. This room’s paradox really makes you consider your place in this world as the audience and how your moment of euphoria at any given time could be juxtaposed with other people’s intense suffering elsewhere. The notion of paradox is key to his work.

For us, the exhibition raised the question of role of the contemporary artist in conceptual art, because crucially, Deller has not physically made any of the art, but instead brought it together as his own compilation. Yes, this is similar to the methods of Damien Hirst for example who employs teams of artists to put his ideas together, but at least he’s even involved in the creation process, unlike Deller. 

I discussed how I struggled with this concept with my Professor this morning and we came to the conclusion that in order to understand Deller we must draw parallels between his role and the role of a theatre director who directs the actors, but does not actually have any part in the final presentation of their combined efforts. After all, Deller studied History of Art at the Courtauld and is an academic not a painter, so why not use his skills to create a beautiful compilation of other people’s Art even if he cannot make his own? His genius lies in his skills as a curator, as a collector rather than his own technical ability.

Our favourite part of the exhibition was the film ‘English Magic’. To watch it you are encouraged to lie sprawled over the wreckage of a Range Rover from the film and as the lights go down the music of the Melodians Steel Orchestra from South London comes on at a slowed pace. In slow motion powerful footage of birds of prey taking flight silences you. 

What follows is a rather perplexing jumble of shots of varying from elated children on bouncy castles to the strangely apocalyptic images of Range Rovers being gradually crushed. The slow motion footage combined with the heavy music was intensely provocative and stirring, it had a very physical effect on us.

Matisse's Cut-Outs at Tate Modern.

 Matisse's Cut-Outs 
Tate Modern, London

13 May - 30 August 

“This is a feast of dazzling dreams: come to the carnival” 

The Times

Despite The Times Review’s description of Henri Matisse’s cut-outs as“ a feast of dazzling dreams”, I have always been sceptical, condemning them as the final publicity stunt of a notorious provocateur. I had no intention of buying into what I anticipated would be another over-publicised 'blockbuster' exhibition at Tate Modern. However, following a spontaneous visit last Friday, I have been well and truly swayed.  

In truth, I have nothing against the expressive French Painter as a whole. It is undeniable that he was indeed in the vanguard of Modern Art, putting Titian to shame with works like his polychromatic Woman with a Hat, 1905. So, when an impromptu visit with a departing friend arose, I tied my laces and prepared to join the ranks of thousands of Londoners seduced by his controversial compositions.

Les Gouaches Découpes - as described in his native tongue - are quite simply collages of paper drenched in opaque gouache, which can roughly be described as a blend of watercolours and binding agent. Defining him as a veritable luminary of the plastic arts, his invention continued to align him with visionaries like Picasso and Duchamp. Throughout his lustrous career he drifted between Fauvism and the influence of French classicism, but he never let go of his obsession with bold colour. Nonetheless, it wasn’t to last and the rain came in the late sixties when punishing cancer left him confined to his wheelchair. Tragically, he was unable to hold a paintbrush.

To the outside world, the career of an innovator who’d captured so much untainted beauty and colour in his work was stopped in its tracks. Reading through his journals you can empathize with the ache of his subsequent heartbreak, although it was always clear that he never completely lost hope. As long as he had his mind, he was determined that his creativity would live on.

Fortunately, Matisse rapidly found his silver lining in his invention of cut-outs, which became a personal form of escapism. He hired assistants to slather colourful lashings of gouache onto his paper, before cutting them himself and directing their placement on the canvas. Finally, his imagination could run free despite the confines of his wheelchair. Monique Bourgeois - his fabulously named Russian nurse - modelled for him in the nude and with only his scissors he interpreted every curve and shadow as if he were holding a brush.

Tate Modern indulged us in more than 120 of his cut-outs, skilfully framed and well organised in thematic rooms. The variety of said themes was astonishing. He gave us oceans, circus scenes, dancers, snails, snow flowers, funeral carts, woodland scenes and sensual female figures as his imagination ran wild. A few favourites were the The Dragon and my beloved The Parakeet and the Mermaid, but don’t dare skip past the stained glass windows at the end of the exhibition. The gift shop can wait, believe me.  

  

  

Darting between the works was an afternoon of child-like fun as we competed to decipher the meaning behind each cut-out, unravelling their boldly juxtaposed colours. It felt like a puzzle, ready to be unwrapped. Admittedly we were overly fanatical about referring to the colour key. Somewhat perplexing, it declared red to represent materialism (not violence), blue to represent nature (not the ocean) and white to represent gender (not purity), but what does it matter? That is the beauty of his work, he doesn’t tell you what to see. The titles are simplistic and leave scope for imagination.

As we wandered around, I loosely translated his notes from French to English - perhaps to the detriment of my all too trusting companion. Matisse’s musings were haunting, poetic and so perhaps it was a betrayal of the curators not to offer any translation. Evidently, they displayed these his calligraphy as works of art in itself, but surely everyone ought to have had the chance to ponder Matisse’s philosophy? Of all the notes we pored over, the most enlightening was the line, ‘the cut-outs allow me to bathe in the beauty of the flowers I could no longer pick’, which illustrates the humble purpose of his Gouaches Découpes.

As perfectly described by the Time Out London review, “By the exhibition’s close, you’re convinced that good old gouache paint is the most radiant substance on earth.” It is truly magic. I urge you to go, but not alone. This is no place for shuffling around with a notepad and pencil; it’s an intriguing game for two.