Critic Cal

Picture the scene: the aging, cantankerous supremo presides, hands folded, at the head of a grand table, flanked by trusty advisers. The candidates enter, a mess of nerves and brashness in varying ratios. Invited, by turns, to take the floor, they each make their bid for the favour of their patron: Impress him, and fortune and fame could follow. Leave him cold, and expulsion awaits. This was the first time I'd seen King Lear (unless you count Ran )... It's playing at the Tobacco Factory until the 24th March and is a brilliant production -- catch it while you can! [1] The 'candidates' in question are Lear's three daughters; the reward, his kingdom, which he has decided to apportion as dowries so that he can retire from his duties whilst retaining the recognition and honour that are his 'due'. Ever eager to feed his own ego, he demands they compete with one another in declaring their regard for him, by which he will determine their relative portions. Gone...

It was a nice surprise to find The Artist every bit as compelling and impressive as it was hyped up to be. There is something immediately profound in the level of complex communication that can be acheived without words; our shared experience as humans seems to enable us to reconstruct entire thought processes and emotional journeys from facial expressions and physical gestures alone. Particularly memorable was the image of Peppy physically enacting the imagined caresses of George with the help of his suit jacket as it hung from a coat stand -- a proficient bit of physical comedy, and at the same time so resonant of that near-universal longing for reciprocated love. No wonder, then, that the film took on some 'big' themes. The one that stuck out most to me was pride in the face of grace. With the advent of 'sound', silent superstar George is old news and rising 'talkies' starlet Peppy is the next big thing. But Peppy loves George and watches with sorrow, rath...