Theatre Review: The Spirit Whistle

The Spirit Whistle is showing at the Tiverton Oak Room until the 17^th of December 2016. This review was commissioned by Tiverton Community Radio, and was originally published on their website.

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 dimly lit, Victorian church with a ghostly pipe organ, Tiverton’s Oak Room is the perfect backdrop for a spooky, supernatural romp. It is perhaps no surprise that Mid Devon based theatre company Iron Moon Arts handpicked this venue for their latest haunting production, The Spirit Whistle.

The play is writer and director Matthew Lawrenson’s loose adaptation of Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, a ghost story by genre-defining author M. R. James. The production honours this chilling tale while injecting folklore and myths from the Devon landscape.

Much like the story from which it draws inspiration, this production is in many ways a return to the archetypal ghost story. Yet, through an inventive blend of rib-tickling pastiche and a tailor-made script, the play is a delightfully unique experience.

After taking our seats to disconcertingly upbeat parlour music echoing from the cavernous ceiling, the show begins. We are transported to a 1920’s hotel.  The play is set right here in Tiverton, and Pulman’s script is packed with nods to the region’s history from the get go. Immediately the actors relish in hammy, old-timey theatrics.

Not wholly owing to its hotel setting, the humour is at times in the vein of Faulty Towers, with the cast demonstrating a knack for physical comedy. Grace Simpson (Sarah White), a frustrated proprietor of the hotel, dances and quarrels with her guests, while the rhythmic interplay between the sceptical Professor Parkins (Richard Pulman) and the gullible Captain Deveril (Philip Kingslan John) is played with charming flamboyance.

We are introduced to Tom Sett (Benjamin Akira Tallamy), an ostentatious spiritual medium who claims to contact the dead with the aid of a large, mysterious box, which sits ominously on the stage as our curiosity builds.

While the play is largely a comic farce, packed with witty asides to the audience and fourth wall breaking gags, its humour is underpinned by something genuinely sinister. The aftermath of the First World War looms heavily over the production, and it somehow manages to create an ominous atmosphere despite its comic absurdity.

While this production has only five actors, the Oak Room itself can almost be considered a sixth cast member. The imposing, high-ceilinged hall is used to great effect. The cast traverse the oval balcony and walk amongst the audience, expertly making use of the historical atmosphere around them.

With the imaginative use of lighting cues, puppetry, sound design, projected images and Luke Jeffery’s film footage, the play delivers a multifaceted, spine-chilling escapade. At one notable point, we are spooked with a technique that would not be out of place in the West End’s The Woman in Black. Playing with our expectations, we are surprised by the play’s contrasting horror and humour.

Deceptively light-hearted, and at times terrifying, The Spirit Whistle is a playful homage to a classic ghost story, lovingly crafted for a beautiful venue.

Live Music Review: John Carpenter

John Carpenter performed on October 23 at Colston Hall, Bristol, concluding the Simple Things Festival 2016

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ith Netflix’s Stranger Things resurrecting spooky synth music for new audiences, now seems like the perfect time for ‘The Horror Master’ himself, John Carpenter, to bring his haunting scores to the stage for his first ever tour. The 68-year-old director-actor-producer-editor-writer-composer — whose filmography includes genre-defining chillers like Halloween and The Thing — took to the stage one cold October night at Bristol’s Colston Hall.

Carpenter has gathered an undying cult following during his career, and this owes as much to his use of stomach-churning visuals as it does to his eldritch backing music. This reverence is evidenced as he walks on stage, the horror fans welcoming him with beholden applause. The drums beat, and euphoria erupts through the crowd as they recognise the pulsating opening bars of Escape from New York’s main theme. We are instantly transported to the dystopian future of 1997, as the New York skyline — rendered in retro graphics — materialises on the screen behind the stage.

Carpenter’s synthesiser leads a six-piece band, including his son, Cody, on second keyboards. Three guitarists and a drummer provide a heavier, prog-rock edge not present in Carpenter’s original scores — the electronic compositions ominously unfolding like Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells. As we creep into Vortex — the opening track from his first non-movie album, Lost Themes (2015) — the delightful, 80’s disco vibes are retained and intensified by the neon pink-blue flicker of the stage lighting. While the moustached, long-haired Carpenter bops along to the music, it’s hard not to view him as some kind of messiah. His eccentricity makes him seem like a character straight out of one of his own movies.

“For most of my career I composed music for scary movies, thrillers …ghost stories” Carpenter tells us, the stage filling with dry ice for The Fog’s score. It’s clear that intense cinematic nostalgia grips the audience, and indeed, in the periods where Carpenter performs material from his studio albums, the accompanying projected film clips are markedly absent. It should be noted, however, that this show is not just an exercise in sentimentality. Carpenter looks forward by performing impressive material from his recent studio albums, including the guitar shrieking tracks Wraith and Distant Dream, compositions which — while bearing Carpenter’s signature uncanny atmosphere — have an unmistakable rock ‘n’ roll energy.

As the band puts on sunglasses to perform music from the irreverently anti-capitalist They Live, it’s easy to see why Carpenter’s films have such enduring appeal. Slogans from the 1988 film fill the stage — “OBEY”, “MONEY IS YOUR GOD”, “BUY”, “CONSUME” — and this performance makes the film’s message seem urgently pertinent.

“In 1982 I made a movie called The Thing”, Carpenter announces to thunderous applause. The Thing’s score was the result of a collaboration between Carpenter and legendary Italian composer Ennio Morricone. Performed in Morricone’s honour, the theme is comparatively minimalist in its gradually escalating dread, but footage from the film provides a gruesome animatronic backdrop that sustains the audience’s excitement.

"I direct horror movies. I love horror movies. Horror movies will live forever” says Carpenter, before we hear the striking piano melody we’ve all been waiting for — the theme from Halloween.

John Carpenter has forged a musical aesthetic that has become synonymous with horror. While his music is defined by bleakness and discord, witnessing it performed live is intoxicating and thrilling. Carpenter has proven tonight that he is not only the master of the horror genre, but a legitimate musician in his own right.

Live Music Review: Joo Yeon Sir (Violin) & Irina Andrievsky (Piano)

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s part of the Lincolnshire International Chamber Music Festival, acclaimed violinist Joo Yeon Sir was accompanied by the talented pianist Irina Andrievsky for a lunchtime performance at the Drill Hall, Lincoln. With world-class skill, the duo played three compilations by various composers.

The first section of the show is a rendition of Suite in the Old Style, from the lesser known Soviet composer Alfred Schnittke. The pair ease us into the afternoon with some steady, upbeat movements. Hardly an offensive start to the show, Sir and Andrievsky closely reflect the exuberant quality of the music with an unmistakeable sense of playfulness and an impressive aptitude, which remains throughout the afternoon.

While the music is perfectly pleasant, and we immediately get the impression that we are watching highly talented musicians, these movements seem rather tame. We get the sense that Schnittke’s rather twee pieces don’t fully utilise their ability. Perhaps this is fitting for a relaxed afternoon, but it isn’t quite enough to rouse our interest completely.

Schnittke’s 1972 Suite in Old Style was composed in the happier period of the composer’s life, in a cheery, Baroque style. It is extremely Pastorale, yet the collection seems disjointed – the suite is after all, a seemingly random compendium of the composer’s film score movements. We move from some up tempo, joyful refrains, to the melancholier harmonies, and the musicians handle this contrast well. Regrettably, Sir’s violin takes a slight backseat in this opening section, which concludes with the most interesting movements, which – while still subdued – provides us with a preview of the violinist’s capabilities.

Korean-born Joo Yeon Sir has won a plethora of accolades throughout her career, including the prestigious Sir Karl Jenkins Music Award and the BBC/Guardian Young Composer of the Year. She was the overall Grand Prix Laureate at the Nedyalka Simeonova International Violin Competition in Bulgaria, when she was just 16.

We move on to a much more well-known composition, César Franck’s Sonata in A major. Playing a more consistent piece, Sir is able to effectively showcase her skills. She mournfully draws her bow across the strings, while the symbiotic relationship between the performers shines through.

They both seem to feel the sadness in the music as they play, and a nimble balance is formed, giving the impression that the composition has a personal resonance with them. In contrast to the opening section, these movements provide a much more concise theme, and the songlike melodies allow for a stronger dialogue to be established between them.

The concluding segment – the Spanish Folksong Suite, originally arranged by Polish composer Paul Kochanski, further exhibits the harmonious connection between the duo. The sometimes discordant piece is dexterously performed by Sir – whose violin is elegantly underpinned by the restrained keys from Andrievsky. Although the upbeat, flamenco-like spirit of the movements give them more range, we can’t help but feel that these arrangements are still confining their evidently astonishing prowess.

Born in Upha, Russia, Irina Andrievsky went to Moscow to study at the Central Music School for Specially Gifted Children at age 11. She has won international piano awards in Italy, and is actively involved with the Royal College of Music in London.

We are treated to the first truly unbridled demonstration of Sir and Kochanski’s mastery in the form of an encore performance of a 1971 movement entitled Souvenir, by Slovak composer Ladislav Kupkovič. The deft way Sir pucks and dances with her instrument is a spectacle, and it is matched by Kochanski’s impassioned strikes of the piano – this piece at last giving us the extravaganza we were anticipating.

Joo Yeon Sir and Irina Andrievsky have delivered an afternoon of world class chamber music, performed with grace and finesse. Though at times this elegance was subdued, their flawless execution was anything but slack.

Theatre Review: A Machine They're Secretly Building

Proto-type Theatre’s production performed at the Lincoln Performing Arts Centre

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eamlessly melding performance with lecture, Prototype Theatre’s production, A Machine They’re Secretly Building, lifts the lid on the horrors of government surveillance. The play derives its title from Edward Snowden’s claim that the US government is taking away the public’s basic liberties with a “massive surveillance machine they're secretly building."

There are some big issues dealt with here, but Andrew Westerside’s script manages to strike a balance between the informative and the entertaining – presenting innumerable shocking facts to great effect and with a healthy dose of dry humour, all packed into its snappy, one-hour duration. The academic tone of the piece is hardly surprising, considering Westerside is a drama lecturer at Lincoln University. He is part director, part academic, and this show makes use of both his theatre experience, and his PhD.

As we take our seats, two women sinisterly watch us through pink balaclavas –  the allusion to Pussy Riot can’t be coincidental – and the uncluttered stage consists only of a desk, projector screen, filing cabinet and a camera on a tripod. The play begins and the masked figures begin to reel off the facts, beginning our journey through the history of government surveillance from the Second World War to present day. When they take off the headgear, their continuously deadpan recital allows the pair to successfully provide much needed funny moments, giving us respite between their bleak messages.

Although in many senses this is a very simplistic production – basic lighting cues, minimalist staging and statically blocked scenes – props are used to great effect. A helium balloon, tin foil hats and cling film all provide sometimes humorous visual aids to get the messages across.

A live feed from the camera is projected onto the screen, which focuses our attention on the performers, and also accentuates the play’s voyeuristic theme. The camera is pointed out into the audience and a red box scans their faces, replicating counter-terrorism technology used to spot suspicious behaviour. Coupled with the topics discussed, this simple device is able to create a palpable sense of unease in the crowd. They squirm nervously as the point is hammered home, realising they are all the victims of untoward government snooping.

While the detail and research that went into constructing Westerside’s script is impressive, more questions are raised than answered. However, this was clearly the intention of the piece. It leaves us empowered, wanting to do something about the injustices it discusses, and hungry to find out more. Leaflets are even handed out as we leave, giving us more information and online links.  Naturally, this is as much a protest piece as a stage show, it’s aim is to raise awareness and educate. Touching upon subjects like the United States National Security Agency and the size of a yottabyte without boring us is an ambitious aim – yet they hit the mark and hold our interest throughout.

Through an expertly-researched script and shrewd delivery, A Machine They’re Secretly Building gives a solid attempt to galvanise us into action. It is a compact, harsh assault on our conscience, wrapped in an accessible, attention grabbing package. The play is able to deliver its message loud and clear.

Theatre Review: Hand to God

Performed at the Vaudeville Theatre, London

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f The Book of Mormon has taught us anything, it’s that even the most vulgar comedy can hit the mark when the jokes are good enough, and the message behind them is compelling. So when the blasphemous Broadway hit Hand to God came to the UK, audiences were anticipating a similar standard. However, while this play is foul-mouthed and irreverent, it fails to fully tap into the potential of its provocative premise – instead, we are presented with a fairly unrefined play, featuring a series of mediocre gags.

Hand to God is set in a Fundamentalist Lutheran ministry in Texas, where teenagers are taught to put on Christian sock puppet shows by the recently widowed Margery (Janie Dee), in the church’s basement. The disinterested members of the class are the unruly Timothy, (Kevin Mains) the geeky Jessica (Jemima Rooper) and Margery’s introverted son, Jason (Harry Melling). The trouble begins when Jason’s beloved puppet Tyrone becomes apparently possessed by Satan and takes on a life of its own. The puppets, which become characters in their own right, are designed by Marte Ekhougen. While they evoke Sesame Street, they appear hand-knitted and have buttons for eyes. Beowulf Boritt’s set design is simple and naturalistic, but undergoes a satanic makeover after Tyrone takes over.

This is the first play written by Texan Robert Askins, and it was patently inspired by his own experience – his mother actually ran a Christian puppet ministry. The play is directed by New York based Moritz von Stuelpnagel, and Hand to God marks his West End debut.

While Askins’ script delivers its fair share of childish gags, there is a modicum of depth beneath – themes of religious sexual repression and personal responsibility shine through. All of the actors provide energetic performances. Melling’s schizophrenic portrayal of Jason and his evil puppet counterpart is one of highlights of the show. Melling is known to Harry Potter film fans as playing Harry’s obese cousin, Dudley – but he has since shed the pounds. Dee’s ability also stands out. The scenes between Margery and Pastor Greg (Neil Pearson) are often compellingly funny and her kinky sexual awakening with the boisterous Timothy is played with tremendous zeal. Dee is most well-known for the rather more highbrow. She most recently starred in an adaptation of Chekov’s play, The Seagull. Unfortunately, all this acting talent couldn’t make up for the shortcomings of the script.

As a play involving religious lampooning and puppets, we impulsively draw comparisons to The Book of Mormon and Avenue Q. It seems that Hand to God is an attempt to emulate the success of these plays – yet, it simply isn’t as funny. While it does have its moments, Hand to God’s humour never progresses to the absurd heights or razor-sharp satire of its contemporaries. Instead, we are offered a gratuitously extended puppet sex scene – which wasn’t that funny to begin with – and a shoehorned moral message that is never fully developed. The lesson we are supposed to take away from the piece is delivered in the form of two monologues delivered by our demonic puppet, which sandwich the play. It is perhaps telling of the shortcomings of the script that this exposition was deemed necessary.

With subject matter like this, it’s hard not to be controversial, but one gets the impression that Askins thinks his script is a lot more edgy than it actually is. Clearly, this is a production firmly aimed at a younger audience, and while there is nothing wrong with that, it runs the risk of condescending to them. Crude humour is a rather cheap strategy for engaging with the youngsters, and while Hand to God was not without its message – the importance of accepting who you are and taking responsibility for your actions – it would have been more ambitious to speak these wisdoms through a mouthpiece less unmoving.

Theatre Review: The Father

Performed at the Duke of York's Theatre, London

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ld age is one of our most ubiquitous fears. The inevitability that our minds will one day deteriorate is enough to keep anyone awake at night. French playwright Florian Zeller attempted to capture this anxiety in his play Le Père ("The Father"), which went on to win France's highest theatrical honour, the Molière Award, in 2014. Now, Christopher Hampton’s superb translation brings The Father to the UK. Originally opening at the Theatre Royal in Bath, the production returned to the West End for a limited season at the Duke of York’s Theatre. Under James MacDonald’s direction, the play is every bit as unsettling as its subject matter.

Upon entering the auditorium, Miriam Buether’s true to life stage design creates a false sense of security – we are tricked into thinking this is going to be a standard stage drama. Towards the beginning of the play we start to get comfortable. But as more unfolds, we begin to understand that it is precisely this authenticity that the play derives its unease from.

The 70-year-old Kenneth Cranham is outstanding as Andre, an elderly man slowing descending into the grip of dementia. Cranham starred in the popular 1980s comedy TV series Shine on Harvey Moon, as well as having appearances in films such as Layer Cake (2004) and the 1968 musical screen adaptation of Oliver Twist. But he is no stranger to the stage, and has previously been nominated for a Laurence Oliver Award for his role as Inspector Goole in An Inspector Calls. But this time, he managed to win it.

At first, a dark humour is derived from this doddery old man losing his watch, but later we almost feel guilty for laughing. Due to its theme, the script can be emotionally demanding, but we are rewarded with a captivating insight into the realities of dementia. Yet the play manages to evade becoming a dry study of Alzheimer’s disease, instead exploring the more emotional concerns of isolation, grief and father-daughter relationships.

Amanda Drew, who is most well-known for her role as May Wright in EastEnders, plays Andre’s daughter Anne. Her love for her father is strained as she attempts to care for him as his situation slowly worsens. A story from her perspective would have been a compelling enough premise, but where the play really succeeds in disconcerting us is by placing us in the mind of Andre. Actors switch roles and vanish when they enter different rooms, scenes are repeated, but with subtle dialogue changes, and the timeline jumps around. These highly jarring narrative techniques initially make us think we are losing track of the story – but we soon realise that we too, along with Andre, are perplexed, losing all sense of time and place. Christopher Shutt’s sound design compounds this effect by the use of off-kilter piano music which plays during every scene change. Initially, the kitsch sound of pre-recorded music seems at odds with the production’s otherwise veristic style. But with each scene, the music becomes more skewed – popping and cutting out like a broken tape player – eerily paralleling Andre’s decline in brain function.

The interplay between Andre and his daughter is a tragic spectacle – the play is underlined by the quandary of helplessly standing by as a loved one reverts to a childlike state, necessitating constant care. This reversal of roles is one that the play affectively haunts us with. The Father shows remarkable restraint, a theme so provocative could have easily been presented as a dementia horror story. However, it moves us instead with its brutal honesty and pragmatic performances. The Father leaves us heart-broken – pondering the fragile nature of our own minds.

Live Music Review: WHITE at The Bodega Social Club

WHITE performed at The Bodega Social Club in Nottingham on 27^th of February 2016, with support by Lowrie and Twin Kidd

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efore WHITE rip onto the stage with the power and rock ‘n’ roll ostentation of super group heavyweights, we don’t know what to expect. Entering the intimate venue, a bespectacled man sits behind a merchandise table. He thanks people for coming, and modestly hopes the show will meet their expectations – the man is Lewis Andrew, WHITE’s bassist. The crowd gather tentatively. A young man, with a bushy mop of hair steps on the stage and opens a laptop. This isn’t the sound technician, it is the first support act, and he calls himself Lowrie.

“I decided to get with the times and get a laptop. I’m not regretting it. It’s a lot of fun.” After a brief introduction, the Nottingham local and former acoustic artist begins to perform. He delivers an engulfing sound that demands our attention. His primal, heartfelt wails fill the stage more than one man should be capable of, vibrating the headline act’s drum set behind him.

His new direction has clearly been informed by his acoustic background, and the resulting music is often experimental – “out there” in his words – giving the impression that it has been shaped by countless days spent messing around with sound in his bedroom. Through his live sampling, he seems to create a symbiotic relationship with his equipment, moving his hands like a classical composer, the music flows through him, and the result is quite captivating.

Lowrie’s blend of classical piano sounds, modern synth and echo-enhanced vocals is a spectacle to behold. There is a personal resonance here, and it has the sparse crowd engrossed – his aching falsetto voice evokes a less-refined Thom Yorke. He earnestly sings of love and regret, and his lyrics have a reflective maturity. “I’m try’na make it big in a world full of arrogance” – he sings in the standout song, For Reasons Unknown – as if his words are a memoir based on his perception of the music industry. The show is off to a good start.

The next act, the Alternative Pop trio Twin Kidd, also hail from Nottingham. This gig marks their live debut. Although they use more traditional instruments, with the aid of a few laptops, they are able to complement Lowrie’s indie-vibes with mellow, free-spirited fun. Front women Stef Williamson commands the band. Her soulful, Lorde-esque vocals over the keyboard and guitar of Rich Lyon and the drums of Sam Davies keep the standard high.  Their sound is at once dreamy, soothing and funky – a curious blend of electronica backing tracks and subdued pop melodies.

Understandably, their stage presence is of a fresh-faced band not yet quite sure of their ability. But what these newcomers lack in confidence, they more than make up for in their highly adept delivery of catchy songs. Influenced by the foot-tapping Pop Rock of HAIM, and underpinned by electronic beats, channelling bands like Gorillaz and Chvrches, Twin Kidd unravel a pleasing collage of chirpy tunes.

As Williamson tentatively picks up the guitar, her harmonies seem to melt into the purple hues of the stage lighting. The crowd unwind, Twin Kidd succeed splendidly in easing us into the coming experience.

Twin Kidd perform at The Bodega Social Club

Enter: WHITE. The Glaswegian headline act ignite the stage, immediately picking up the tempo with their hot off the press song One Night Stand Forever – their delivery is explosive and dancing is inevitable. Although this marks their first headline tour, their effortless coolness and flawless delivery gives the impression that they are seasoned performers – and indeed they are. Three of the band are former members of the folk-rock outfit Kassidy, before the band spit (their lead singer leaving the group, to be in Los Angeles with his then girlfriend, Lana Del Rey.) Guitarists Hamish Fingland and Chris Potter, drummer Kirstin Lynn and bassist Lewis Andrew are joined by lead singer Leo Condie – a former member of another disbanded Glaswegian group, Low Miffs.

Perhaps ironic – considering the band’s name – the pink neon tubes on the stage match the colourful electronic funk sound the band delivers. Condie’s voice is exceptional – an eclectic fuse of Jarvis Cocker and the post-punk energy of Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos. Wearing a flamboyant red leather jacket, he playfully dances with the microphone stand – belting out songs with the self-assured authority of a true rock star. The band firmly wedge their foot in the door, their dazzling prowess is even more remarkable coming from a band yet to release their first album. They certainly make a good first impression.

WHITE continue to perform expertly crafted songs throughout their set, delivered with studio-polished expertise. The audience are enthralled – this band is a force to be reckoned with. While Lynn pounds the snare drum with momentous energy, the guitarists’ dexterous execution of sensational hooks and pounding basslines are a match for the spectacle of Condie’s powerhouse vocals. The band draw inspiration from the pulsing dance beats of LCD Soundsystem to create an enticing combination of guitar-driven punk that is relentlessly groovy.

Halfway through their set, they launch into the phenomenal Living Fiction, and their tunes are firmly imprinted into our minds. Their song Blush couples taut, guitar smacking rhythm with a hair-raising chorus, allowing Condie to reach his shrieking vocal zenith.

Channelling the best of 1980’s pop through a distinctly modern mouthpiece, they close the show with their hit debut single Future Pleasures. The poppy, yet other-worldly anthem exhibits the group’s annihilating, euphoric spirit.

WHITE, Lowrie and Twin Kidd have gained at least one fan tonight.

New biggest fan: Me with WHITE front man Leo Condie

Do make sure to 'like' WHITE, Lowrie and Twin Kidd on facebook, and follow them on twitter! (@calledWHITE, @FrazerLowrie and @TWIN_KIDD_)

Film Review: The Witch (2016)

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he Witch (suitably stylised as The VVitch), the feature-length debut and Sundance triumph from Robert Eggers, manages to derive its terror not only from witchcraft, but from the unknown, claustrophobia, the fear of God and the bleak landscape. The 17^th century. New England. a family is excommunicated from a Puritan Christian plantation for “prideful conceit.” The exiled family must survive on their own farm, out in the wilds near a forest.

The family, father William (Ralph Ineson), his wife Katherine (Kate Dickie), their daughter Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy) their son Caleb (Harvey Scrimshaw) and their young twin children Mercy (Ellie Grainger) and Jonas (Lucas Dawson) provide the sparse main cast. Months after their exile, Katherine gives birth to her fifth child, Samuel. When the unbaptised baby vanishes, apparently abducted by a witch, Katherine is distraught, spending her days praying to God and weeping.

As the plot slowly unravels like a camp fire tale, it draws us in with its folkloric disquiet.  The whole cast delivers pragmatically naturalist performances. Eggers’ script clearly had authenticity in mind, the dialogue is an historically accurate representation of Puritan dialect. In fact, Eggers’ script lifts some dialogue directly from Puritan prayer manuals. The film draws on concepts so archetypal, they would verge on being outmoded had they been handled with less care. We fear God with these characters, their desperation as they beg for mercy instils an anxiety within us – we want their prayers to be answered.

The dialogue’s archaic validity is matched by the film’s eerily plausible visuals. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke chose to shoot The Witch in a 1.66 aspect ratio, giving a timeless, claustrophobic feel to cinema audiences who presume the use of widescreen. The woods seem taller, and the huts more enclosed. Predominantly natural lighting was used for exterior shots, and interiors are often shot by candlelight, giving the film the genuine visual aesthetic of Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon (1975). The colour palette is bleak and subdued, adding to the palpable hopelessness.

The film continuously plays with genre convention, while other horror texts would rely on jump-scares and gory imagery, The Witch derives its trepidation from escalating dread, constructing an experience that is as tight as a drum. In one particularly well-crafted sequence, inordinate tension is drawn from wood chopping, using a combination of excellent editing and sound design. The film-makers even manage to find fear from an unlikely source – a hare. While not without its shocking moments, the film primarily unnerves us through suggestion, and what lies beyond its narrow frame.

Cinema audiences will of course associate witches with the low-budget, found footage style of The Blair Witch Project (1999). But The Witch stands apart by tracing its subject matter back to its roots, capturing colonial America’s first witch hysteria, in a setting 62 years before the notorious Salem Witch Trials. In deriving fear from the archetypal and loosely building on a foundation of historical records, Eggers manages through sheer verisimilitude to deliver what is a novel experience.

Building gradually towards its comparatively explicit – albeit somewhat ambiguous – crescendo, this is a film which gets under the skin, but the real horror only sets in once we have left the cinema. The film’s authenticity leaves us feeling unsettled, as if we have flipped through a dusty occult manuscript we were not meant to see. The Witch is an extraordinary achievement for the horror genre, and a promising first offering from newcomer writer-director Robert Eggers.

Film Review: Deadpool (2016)

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ou’re probably thinking, ‘this was a superhero movie, but that guy in the suit just turned that other guy into a fucking kabab!’ Surprise! This is a different kind of superhero story”, boasts our masked antihero Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds). Marvel’s latest comic book romp – the Tim Miller-directed eighth instalment in the ever-expanding X-Men series – is adamant it stands apart from its predecessors.

Deadpool is based on Rob Liefeld and Fabian Nicieza’s comic book character, referred to in the comics as the “Merc with a Mouth” due to his tendency to make gags and break the fourth wall. The man behind the mask is Wade Wilson, a special forces operative turned wisecracking mercenary. He falls in love with escort Vanessa Carlysle (Morena Baccarin). A year later, after Wade proposes to Vanessa, he is diagnosed with terminal cancer. A shady organisation offers him a cure that will also provide him with superhuman abilities. After undergoing the procedure, he is left with healing powers, (not unlike fellow Marvel superhero Wolverine) but cursed with a deformed appearance.

The film doesn’t beat around the bush, getting straight into the self-deprecation with opening credits including ‘A CGI Character’ and ‘Directed by An Overpaid Tool’. And thus sets the tone for this irreverent, violent escapade. The audience chuckle as Deadpool splatters his foe’s brains whilst quipping all the way. Scriptwriters Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, together with a smart-arsed performance from Ryan Reynolds, generate a fair few successful comedic moments. But it seems that underneath its tongue-in-cheek vulgarity, this is just another addition to an oversaturated genre. While some of the crude humour hits the mark, all the ceaselessly self-referential comedy in the world apparently couldn’t prevent this film from regressing into overly familiar territory. No doubt the filmmakers were aware that they were recycling tired tropes – rescuing the damsel in distress, the explosions and large buildings collapsing – and this is of course part of the joke. However, there is a fine line between pastiche and repetition, and it is in overstepping this mark that Deadpool risks inducing boredom.

After an elaborate advertising campaign gearing us up for a comedic romp, we all anticipated Deadpool would make us laugh – and laugh we did – but surely fans wanted something that would surprise. Should we have anticipated more than exactly what we expected, or was this film just made to fill a gap in the market? Deadpool – by its own admission – is a fan-pleaser. After Reynold’s previous portrayal as our mercenary joker had his mouth sewn shut in Gavin Hood’s misfired X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) fans have been begging for Deadpool to be done right on the big screen. This incarnation tries hard to prove that the superhero film can be for adults too – An aim that was already achieved with Matthew Vaughn’s arguably more zany Kickass (2010). This is Tim Miller’s directorial debut, and he has clearly taken notes on erstwhile superhero stories. Utilising flashbacks, together with a guiding narrative voice, the film manages – for the most part – to circumvent genre norms in explaining Deadpool’s origins.

But for all its meta-humour, violence and sex, Deadpool reeks of an attempt to breathe life back into a worn-out genre. It falls somewhat short of this aim, instead giving us what is essentially just another superhero movie, featuring most of the dreary conventions it seeks to poke fun at. Evidently wearing its 15 age certificate as a badge of honour, Deadpool is amusing, but far from fresh.

Exhibition Review: The Anatomy of Objects

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ow does the meaning of an object change over time? How is the meaning of an object altered when it is taken out of its usual context? Who would have thought that taking household rubbish from a recycling centre and photographing it in a studio, it would still be just that – rubbish.

A new exhibition at Lincoln museum The Collection called ‘The Anatomy of Objects’ attempts to investigate how objects come to have meaning. The display was created by Programme Leader of the MA Photography course at Lincoln University, Adam O’Meara – who was behind ‘Taskscape’, a previous exhibition at The Collection – and Lincoln Social Science Centre member, David McAleavey, who worked on ‘Our Place, Our Priorities’, a photographic exhibition created by homeless people for the centre.  For this exhibition, the pair worked with a Lincoln recycling centre, photographing staff members and objects.

As you enter the exhibition, a plaque asks “How do objects mean?” a statement as perfunctory as it is grammatically problematic. On entering the small exhibition room, you see photos hastily slapped on poorly cut foam board – workers in high-vis, uninspired, posed portraits that wouldn’t look out of place on the recycling centre’s website. Some of these snapshots have been signed by their subjects, but only a few of them, as if it were an afterthought.

Walking around the space reveals a number of reasonably competent still life photos of numerous pieces of junk –  a colander, some broken plugs, a stuffed toy atop various bric-a-brac – it says something about an exhibition when the standout piece is a picture of a spool of gold cotton on a stone plinth.

Visitors are invited to ‘recycle’ something in the bin provided, which will then be photographed and added to the project’s archive – hopefully they will resist the urge to dispose of a canvas or two. An abstract picture hangs in one corner – completely unexplained and out of context – giving the impression that when putting together this collection of still life photos, the printer suffered a malfunction.

The point of this exhibition doesn’t elude me – it’s a comment on our disposable culture, the permanency of objects and their cultural significance and varying interpretations – but this slapdash display does nothing to elicit the desired response.

Perhaps this work would be acceptable in an A-level photography student’s binder, but to place it here, among historical objects and classical paintings of genuine interest, seems almost insulting. However, perhaps this is in keeping with some of The Collection’s second-rate modern exhibits, including the recent ‘Freedom Lies’ a skin-deep, thrown-together exploration into capital punishment that left much to be desired.

The Anatomy of Objects is as throwaway as its subject matter.

The exhibition runs in the Courtyard Gallery of The Collection from 16 January to 14 February 2016. Admission is free.