Jeremy Deller is inviting London to a party it won't forget
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Daily Mail
18 hours ago
- Daily Mail
Inside Lucas Paqueta's two years in hell: Millions of pounds lost, the key evidence that saved his career, why he could still sue the FA... and what's next for his West Ham future
Lucas Paqueta always joked about going on the Brazilian version of Big Brother one day. He loved watching the famous old reality show, a national obsession in his homeland, and was fascinated by the challenges it presented to the contestants locked inside the house's four walls. For the past two years, Paqueta has come to know exactly how it feels to have the eyes of the world fixed upon you, passing their judgment on your every move, with seemingly no escape or anywhere to hide.
Spectator
a day ago
- Spectator
Is Stephen Fry the right choice to play Lady Bracknell?
Last year, the National Theatre staged The Importance of Being Earnest in a new production by Max Webster. It attracted mixed reviews from critics and audiences alike, who applauded its determination to do something new – to re-queer Wilde for a younger audience, if you like – but also dared to suggest that Ncuti Gatwa, who played Algernon Moncrieff, was not the most comfortable casting for Wilde's protagonist. Still, Gatwa is a big name and pulled in the crowds, and so it was little surprise that, for the play's inevitable West End transfer, similarly starry names had to be produced. The first was Olly Alexander, the pop singer and actor, and now it has been revealed that none other than Sir Stephen Fry, the recently knighted national treasure himself, will be donning drag to play Lady Bracknell. The idea of male actors playing one of Wilde's greatest roles is nothing particularly surprising. Over the past few years, Geoffrey Rush and David Suchet have both given their Bracknells, as it were, and the idea of a superb classical actor taking on such a dynamic part is an exciting opportunity. Fry, however, is nobody's idea of a leading classical actor. His last major role on stage was as Malvolio in the Globe's Twelfth Night in 2012, and although he received decent notices, he was overshadowed by Mark Rylance as Olivia. (It was, naturally, an all-male production, something that would be almost inconceivable now.) Otherwise, he has largely opted for television and film over theatre, to mixed returns. His performance as Wilde in the eponymous 1997 film was a triumph of humanity, wit and obvious identification with the great playwright. Other roles have been less obviously distinguished. And of course he has his own unhappy associations with the theatre. Notoriously, he fled to Brussels in 1995 after being upset by the reviews for his performance in Simon Gray's Cell Mates, a saga of which his website now says, 'The experience still haunts him, but the depression has now faded to embarrassment and the anger to forgiveness.' Let us hope that Fry's return to the stage this autumn makes for a happier experience. He has a clear identification with Wilde and his works, and said of his casting that 'Oscar Wilde has been a hugely important figure in my life and career and The Importance of Being Earnest is a play that changed my life when I first saw it aged ten. It made me understand what language can do and absolutely transported me. Wilde is a beacon to people who still believe in open thinking and adventuring with the mind and spirit.' Few would disagree. Yet there is another question to be asked, too. The role of Lady Bracknell was played at the National by Sharon D Clarke, a fine actress of infinite range, and it seems a strange decision not to at least consider bringing Clarke back, or at the very least casting another grande dame of London theatre in the role to balance Alexander – another actor who has not appeared on stage in over a decade – in the lead. I would have loved to have seen, say, Cate Blanchett or Gillian Anderson in the part, or if the role had to be cast with a man, what someone like Roger Allam or, indeed, Mark Rylance would have done with the Lady. Still, perhaps it is not worth being too exercised by this piece of stunt casting. The Importance of Being Earnest is like London buses, or the Holy Trinity – you wait ages for one, and then three come along at once – and there will undoubtedly be another, more traditional production in due course. (Also, the casting of that great comedian Hugh Dennis as Canon Chasuble could be a coup.) Yet I fear that this is pandering to West End audiences who demand Big Stars at all costs. Fry is clearly a great lover of all things Wilde, and this may be a dream come true for him. Likewise, his presence will bring in the crowds, just as Gatwa's did. However, whether they were really the best actors for the role, or just the most bankable names, is a question that hangs over this particular Earnest.
Times
2 days ago
- Times
Andy Goldsworthy: Fifty Years review — a master rights some wrongs
Andy Goldsworthy is imaginative, inventive, poetic, hard-working, big-hearted and brave. He has been making art for 50 years. Nature loves him, people who have seen his work in books love him, people who go to his exhibitions love him, I love him, my wife loves him, and so do my kids. But for reasons we need to go into, the art establishment does not. Indeed, it ignores him. He has never been nominated for the Turner prize. He's not in the Royal Academy. He hasn't received an MBE or an OBE, let alone been knighted or damed like the Gormleys, Kapoors or Emins. He has never had a show at the Tate or the Hayward. No one has asked him to represent Britain at the Venice Biennale. For 50 years Goldsworthy has been making art that touches the heart and delights the eye. But the art establishment can't see it. Why? One reason is that his work is centred on the landscape, and the art establishment, these days, is an urban beast. Sheep don't fret about their identities. Trees don't remember the empire. Farmers don't express themselves with their clothing as relentlessly as Leigh Bowery did, night after night, club after club, in the posthumous show he had recently at Tate Modern. Another problem is the delightful nature of Goldsworthy's art: that it is so easy to love. The gorgeous patterns he finds in autumn leaves, the magical moments he creates with nature's simplest materials, the ecstatic understanding he has of the joy of colour are not neurotic enough to appeal to the art world's tastes. It sees itself as a complex ally of the ego, not a joyous buddy of the id. It hungers for difficulty, rigour, unpleasure. So my advice to the commissars of the art establishment, to Tate directors and Serpentine curators, is to get yourselves to Edinburgh and visit Andy Goldsworthy: Fifty Years at the Royal Scottish Academy. It's a look at the whole of his lengthy career, but also a statement show that seems determined to stamp out the rumour that he's a softie. The real Andy Goldsworthy — hardcore, thoughtful, mysterious — is being encouraged to emerge. It begins spectacularly with a long and shaggy sheepskin rug running down the centre of the posh stairs that welcome us to the Royal Scottish Academy. Infused with the stony rigour of the Scottish Enlightenment, carved out of local granite, the posh stairs speak of privilege and rank, politeness and empire. Goldsworthy's rug, meanwhile, ascending shaggily step by step, speaks of muddy fields and the dirty bottoms of sheep. Two worlds are colliding, and societal sparks are flying. The attack continues with the next sight, a filigree of delicate lines stretching between the portentous Doric columns that loom over the entrance. What is it? A silk hanging? A beaded embroidery? As you get closer, you finally recognise it: barbed wire. From many fields and with many patinas. For the first time in its unpleasant history, the vicious outdoor fencing has been woven by an industrious spider into a curtain of fragile beauty. • Like nature itself, the show keeps switching moods. Gravestones, a lumpy gallery full of rocks that appear to have emerged from beneath the floor, like the biblical prophecy about the resurrection of the dead at the End of Days, is doomy and gothic. It's made out of stones dug up in the cemeteries of Dumfries and Galloway. But Sheep Paintings, two panels of cosmic swirlings with a perfect circle at their centre, feels druidically mystical, like that installation with the setting sun at Tate Modern by Olafur Eliasson. Goldsworthy's solar discs were actually created by the muddy feet of sheep feeding around a perfectly circular food trough. In his student days Goldsworthy worked on a farm, where he learnt a respect for labour and inherited an appreciation for the seasons. Despite their many moods, his installations are invariably centred on a simple piece of geometry: a circle, a square, a line. Oak Passage seems, from its first angle, to be an impenetrable tangle of branches. But as you walk round you see that its centre is dissected by a miraculously straight path. Man and nature are doing their thing in evident harmony. Most readers will know Goldsworthy's work from the sumptuous photography books he produced in the 1990s. They were popular and are, I suspect, the chief reason the art world took against him: it dislikes crowd-pleasers. Some of those images are on show here as well — a mysterious zigzag in the earth created with the feathers of a heron; a bottomless hole in a tree fashioned from autumn leaves. Rather than shining glossily in a coffee table book, they hang coolly on the gallery walls, part of a thoughtful photographic encapsulation in which the rigour that went into their production is easier to note. They remain beautiful — what a nose he has for the intensity of nature's colours — but their ambition to record a fleeting moment is much more evident. The job of this gorgeous photography is to record a natural performance that would otherwise be lost. All through the event there's a feeling that the artist is trying to right some wrongs: a sense of correction. Here, finally, the truth is being projected that he is, at heart, a minimalist: a lover of geometry's simplest order. But where most minimalists are urbanites, searching for industrial precision with industrial materials, he's a rural minimalist who finds order and simplicity in nature. If it's not there, he inserts it into the chaos. And like all great landscape artists — and he's certainly one of those — he's bringing the outdoors indoors. It's a traditional British ambition. It deserves far greater recognition that it has hitherto received.
