Category: Mary Woodward Review

**** (4 stars)

“Delightful and Fascinating”

It’s hard to imagine life before Biba but, gentle reader, I was there and I remember…  Life was pretty drab and grey, and young people were expected to look like smaller-sized clones of their parents.  The concept of young people as beings with lives, minds and wishes of their own was hard for many people to grasp.

And then suddenly, there was Biba…and nothing would ever be the same again.  It’s hard to believe that the Biba phenomenon lasted little more than ten years and yet had a lasting effect on the world of fashion and the development of a concept of ‘lifestyle’.  For those of us old enough to remember those days, Dovecot’s exhibition offers the opportunity to wander down memory lane.  For those who did not have that experience, come and marvel at the simplicity of the way in which our lives were changed forever.

Barbara Hulanicki, alongside her husband Stephen Fitz-Simon, started a small mail-order company selling inexpensive clothing for women and children in 1963 – Biba’s Postal Boutique.  An advertisement in the Daily Mirror resulted in 17,000 orders for a Brigitte Bardot inspired pink gingham dress.  This success prompted Barbara to give up her day job as a [very successful] fashion illustrator and concentrate solely on Biba.

In 1965 a very small shop in Kensington was transformed into a seeming night club with black walls and random pieces of old-fashioned furniture on which customers could perch while trying to find their perfect purchase.  The emphasis was on affordable up-to-the-minute fashion, aimed at young people with an eye to design but with a very limited budget. 

Initially, the clothes were designed for very skinny young women – Twiggy was an early customer, and the perfect size and shape for Biba designs.  Only 500 of each garment would be made, so a design sold out quickly and the shop’s stock would be constantly changing.  The colour palette of the clothes was also unusual – in addition to black and brown, mauve, rust, plum and purple were much in evidence.  Feather boas and wide-brimmed felt hats became archetypal Biba add-ons, and were much in evidence in Swinging London in the late 60s.

Biba swiftly outgrew its first Kensington shop and in 1966 moved to a triple-fronted shop not far away.  For the first time, men’s and children’s clothes could be bought, alongside many non-clothing Biba products.  Three years later, Biba moved into a shop on Kensington High Street, offering a wide array of clothing, accessories, cosmetics and furnishings.  In 1973, Big Biba was opened, and proclaimed ‘the most beautiful store in the world’.  Formerly the Derry & Toms department store, it was transformed to provide the ultimate Biba shopping experience, with seven floors of merchandise from groceries to cosmetics and furnishings in addition to a constantly-changing array of clothing.  Now one’s entire life could be lived in Biba…

Alas, this only lasted two years.  in a very short space of time, Hulanicki relinquished all right to the Biba name, and moved on into another chapter of her life, not even retaining the majority of her own Biba clothing.

The garments on display in this fascinating exhibition have mainly come from private collections.  Many are from the collection of Sarah Plunkett, the first manager of the first London Biba; others from Lilli Anderson, the last person to stop working at Biba when it closed in 1975; yet more are from individuals who responded to a recent appeal for Biba clothes and memorabilia, and generously allowed them to be displayed here. 

It’s touching to see the small holes and imperfections in garments which have virtually been worn to death, they were loved so much.  It’s also quite scary to see just how small the dresses are, how ridiculously skimpy and tight the sleeves are, and be reminded of quite how short one’s skirt was in the 60s…  Alas, I would never have fitted into early Biba – even as a young woman I was tall and not at all slender – but I suspect that even when Biba garments were made in larger sizes, they would never have looked good on me… <sigh>

There are some fabulous garments on display, and not just simple frocks.  Coats are much in evidence, as are suits of various sorts: and more glamorous wear, including evening wear, marketed as nightwear because that incurred a lower rate of tax…  It’s interesting to see the development from simple shift dresses to more flowing garments, with wider sleeves and an increasingly ‘hippy’ vibe. 

There are some extraordinary fake-fur garments [a snow leopard pants suit!] and some surprisingly vividly coloured clothes, contrasting with the generally sombre palette used.  One singularly gorgeous simple cream dress had me feeling momentarily very light-fingered – but it would never have fitted, and its absence would have been instantly spotted!

The exhibition ends with personal memories of some Biba customers with photos of them wearing their favourite clothes.  There’s also a place where you can write your own Biba memory and put it on the wall with all the others – and spend an age reading them all as you relive your youth…

This is a delightful and fascinating exhibition which is a window into a [goodness me!] now bygone era, when life seemed simpler and all you had to do was work out for how long you’d have to save to be able to afford the next Biba garment or item…  oh happy days!  Go and enjoy!

The BIBA Story: 1964-1975, Dovecot Studios, Edinburgh, Exhibition runs until Saturday 27^th June for more information and tickets go to: The Biba Story: 1964–1975

**** (4 stars)

“A Brilliant Concept!”

I don’t know quite what I was expecting with this collaboration between Scottish Opera and KAJIMOTO, but what I found was much food for thought and some exquisite moments fusing art and music.

The Japanese artist Hokusai is probably best known to most Brits as the man who painted ‘that famous picture of the enormous blue wave towering over a tiny mountain’.  Composer Dai Fujikura and multi-disciplinary artist, writer and producer Harry Ross, with the assistance of a team of very talented creatives, offered us a series of scenes from the life of the artist. 

We began in silence: mourners bring single lilies to lay on what one assumes is a coffin – though like so many things in this opera, the shape and purpose of the central object is not immediately clear to a western eye.  Hokusai is dead, but his spirit watches over his daughter Ōi as she remembers coming to live and work with her father.  A shivering Chinese flute provides an unearthly accompaniment.

Hokusai is struck by lightning.  While unconscious, he has a vision of being in a small fishing boat from which he can see a distant view of Mount Fuji.  A giant wave nearly overwhelms the boat.  He becomes consumed with the need to survive, and to paint the Great Wave.

We go back and forwards in time: scenes from the funeral; public art-making by the painter; his financial struggles and the acquisition of a pot of Prussian Blue pigment [‘more valuable than gold’]; the ageing artist sharing health-giving tea with his daughter; his move to Obuse and interaction with the people there: and a final dream-like scene in which the painter’s spirit commingles with and disappears into the mythical Tiger and Dragon. 

Throughout the opera, the constant refrain is “give me ten more years” – Hokusai the artist never sits still, confident that he had ‘got it right’: he is always looking to refine his art so that every line, every dot expresses the essence of what he is trying to portray.

I guess my first reaction was “Quite what is an opera?”  The Great Wave is not filled with jealousy, rage, despair, unrequited, thwarted or forbidden love, dynastic tangles, sibling rivalry, mistaken identities, or tragic deaths: so is it opera?  Certainly there are words and there is music, but any emotions are restrained almost to the point of non-existence.  Blessedly the dialogue is in English, and there are supertitles to help when the pitch of the notes or the timbre of the voice make comprehension difficult.

The music took some getting used to – not because it was not pleasant to listen to, but because it was all completely new, with few ‘comfort zones’ in which to rest for a while.  There was some gorgeously evocative Chinese flute playing – fascinating to see the instrument itself when its player took his bow at the final curtain.  There was a gloriously bubbling accompaniment to the drinking of the health-giving tea offered by daughter to father, and some terrifying moments during the dream-storm during which Hokusai experienced the Great Wave. 

The music certainly doesn’t fit into a standard operatic pattern of conversation [recitative] to advance the action and song [arias and ensembles] in which the singer or singers reveal their feelings.  In telling a friend about the challenges of making sense of it, especially on a first hearing, I was reminded of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, which similarly consists of a number of scenes [which I described to her as inscrutable] from which one tries to work out quite what is happening and what is each character’s motivation, with little help from the music.   There were very few moments in The Great Wave when more than one voice joined in harmony – and those few were most welcome.   As with other modern works, I feel I would benefit hugely from hearing it more than once, whereupon it might begin to make a lot more sense.

Visually the piece was very impressive.  Initially, a huge whiteish cylinder dominated the stage – until it separated into three sections which, when rotated, revealed a gigantic representation of the Hokusai painting so familiar to us all.  Most of the costumes were creamy-white, so when in the second half Hokusai and Ōi’s costumes were infused with some of the Prussian Blue, it was a striking [and welcome] contrast.   There wasn’t much other moveable scenery – though at times there was a large group of stagehands getting props on and off stage: good that they got their own applause at the final curtain. 

Applause, too, for the puppeteers, whose sinuous weaving of Tiger and Dragon throughout the final scenes contributed hugely to the spectacle.  My companion summed it up nicely when he suggested that Hokusai was dissolving into and becoming one with the world of Tiger and Dragon – a brilliant concept which is difficult to portray on a Glasgow stage: it could be done so superbly with film effects…

Running through the whole piece was a meditation on what is life about? what is being an artist about?   As I’ve said, “Give me another ten years and I will be a better artist” was Hokusai’s constant refrain.  At times we got many of his pictures, projected on to the segments of the cylinder.  Unfortunately for those on the edges of the auditorium, the projections were not always particularly easy to see clearly.  The Great Wave itself, though, was utterly fabulous, on a mammoth scale commensurate with the wave from the artist’s dream.

There was also the challenge of understanding something from an unfamiliar culture. The representations of ‘Japanese culture’ that we receive mostly from western artists and western ideas of what ‘Japanese’ is [think Puccini’s Madam Butterfly, or Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado] all very good, but rarely if ever representations of the real Japan. 

My recent obsession with K-drama on Netflix was an eye-opening introduction into a completely different cultural world where gestures, facial expressions, behaviour, and the niceties of language all mean something which I am only slowly learning to understand.  The recent film Rental Families was another instance of how hard it can be for westerners to understand oriental culture.  How easy to judge by western standards rather than try to grasp the reality…  It was very helpful to read the synopsis of the action before the show began: I would have found it equally helpful to have an introduction to the basics of Japanese culture and manners, costume and behaviour!

Cast and creatives, too many to mention individually, have worked together to create a novel and challenging work.  Huge credit to everyone involved in The Great Wave – yet another amazing Scottish Opera first! 

Scottish Opera presents The Great Wave, Theatre Royal, Glasgow, Run Ended. The production will play the Festival Theatre Edinburgh on Thursday 19^th and Saturday 21^st February for more information and tickets go to: https://www.capitaltheatres.com/shows/the-great-wave/

***** (5 stars)

“Gloriously life-affirming”

Australian stop-motion artist Adam Elliot is new to me – somehow I managed to miss his previous animation, Mary and Max.  Oh my goodness what a talent!  What an imagination!  And what a splendid collection of characters, settings and props – every one of which is hand-made.  It’s visually stunning, brilliantly created, and a real emotional roller-coaster [insider reference to a significant moment fully intentional here].

Grace Pudel is a twin.  She and her brother Gilbert live with their father: their mother died at their birth – just as snails do – and their father, a French street performer who moved to Australia when he married their mother, is severely disabled after an unfortunate accident.  Their life is hard, but not without its joys, until the father dies.

Heartless Child Services separate the children and place them the opposite sides of the continent.  Both are extremely unhappy, but have no way of being re-united: all they can do is write to each other.  Gilbert is lodged with apple farmers who practice a very extreme religion – this is so horrifically well-portrayed I couldn’t laugh at it.  Grace is simply neglected by her incredibly toothily smiling ‘parents’, who follow one extreme fad after another.  The only things that make Grace’s life bearable are her growing collection of live snails and snail memorabilia   

– until she comes across the indomitable Pinky, who brings life and colour into her drab existence.

You wouldn’t think things could get any worse, but they do.  I was beginning to wonder whether there would be any relief in this catalogue of disasters – but be reassured, dear reader: there is light at the end of a very dark tunnel, but I’m not going to share any spoilers!

Memoir of a snail explores the strength of human connections, the extent to which people will go in pursuit of what they firmly believe to be right regardless of its effect on others, and humans’ reactions to extreme stress and unhappiness. 

Surrounding oneself with a snail shell of Stuff creates an impermeable barrier to any sort of relationship with other humans or the world outside: it can take a great shock or an immense amount of courage to leave the safety of the shell and dare to risk being alive, to live rather than simply exist.  Thank heaven for Pinky’s final utterance – “potatoes”…

This is a gloriously life-affirming film – which is available on the BFI website if you weren’t able to be at the FilmHouse last night.  There’s a lot of humour [though some of it made me wince rather than laugh].  It’s an exploration of the perils of hoarding and keeping guinea pigs, and a very strong warning about the dangers of extreme religion [and possibly apples]. 

I am definitely going to add it to my ‘when you’re feeling really bad and need to know there’s hope somewhere’ list.

I hope you’ll discover and enjoy it too.

Memoir of a snail, Manipulate Festival, Film House Edinburgh, RUN ENDED

**** (4 stars)

“An honest and courageous show”

Created and performed by Ninon Noiret, The Raft of the Crab uses words, music, puppetry, contemporary dance and the Chinese pole to explore Ninon’s relationship with the cancer which might have destroyed her performing career and taken her life.

The fact that Ninon was in front of us, displaying a breathtaking ability with said pole among her many other talents, could perhaps have indicated that neither of these fates came to pass – but still the audience was gripped by her narration.  From the beginning, where she sadly sings ‘happy birthday’ to herself, to the final quizzical introspection – ‘what will you do with the rest of your life?’ we are drawn into the confusion and challenge of her world, into which the dreaded crab – cancer – so rudely erupted.

She puts a brave face on it – but the fear is there too, the rage, the loneliness, the despair: the insensibility of others and the black humour with which she attempts to survive when at her lowest.  The words flow out – sometimes English, sometimes French, and sometimes inaudible: the really important pieces of information and comment, however, are delivered with a microphone and a dazzling smile, even when the message is grim.

Two puppets assist her.  One is life-sized – the self to whom she speaks when she is pondering how the crab first came into her body.  The other is half her size, a shrunken and virtually bald image of the self she becomes through chemotherapy, constantly tugging at her inadequate hospital gown, smoothing it down, ‘making herself decent’ – heart-breaking.

There’s also a large blue crab: the cancer, with whom she has a love-hate relationship – a friend as well as an enemy, something both inside and outside her, something which takes away a part of her but is also at times her whole identity.

This is an honest and courageous show in which Ninon reveals a lot about herself and those around her.  Sometimes the battle isn’t with the cancer but with the people she has to deal with – even her family, at times.  She questions herself – even in this dreadful time, the artist/ performer part of her is thinking about how she can put her experiences into a show…  The graphic physicality of her struggle to regain mobility, confidence, the courage to fly up the pole is striking.

So too is her final question: what will you do with the rest of your life?

It’s a question we could all ask ourselves, whether or not a crab appears to ruin our birthday celebrations.

The Raft of the Crab, Manipulate Festival, The Studio Theatre, Edinburgh, Run Ended

***** (5 stars)

“Totally absurd anarchy”

KAR is a show which makes me wish I had a completely new vocabulary with which to describe it: ordinary words seem utterly inadequate.

As we enter, we are thanked for coming and for our condolences.  If we wish, we can take a small red nightlight holder whose candle is lit and place it in front of a rectangular plinth on which a man is lying.  Two black-clad men, one on roller skates, are in attendance on him – one attends to the cigarette in his mouth, removing it and tapping its ash off when required.  The other joins him when it becomes clear that the recumbent man needs a drink [which appears to be either whisky or vodka].  All this time, the [very poorly looking] man wheezes out a short musical phrase on the small piano accordion on his chest…

Having ushered us all in, the third man leaves his post at the door and scrutinises us all, checking against a long list in his hand.  Suddenly “Where’s Anya?” – utter chaos ensues but she doesn’t appear.

At last the dying man speaks – “I’m leaving” – a violin lament accompanies his last tortured wheezings

“He’s dead”…

Respectful silence.

Suddenly the man sits up, pronouncing “Not yet….. later…. Tomorrow….”  It’s both a shock and a huge relief

And we plunge into an hour of totally absurd anarchy, which is virtually indescribable!  Five extremely talented artists keep us immersed in their surreality.  It might help if you have a nodding acquaintance with Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina [which I read quite a few decades ago] and possibly understand Russian – there are some haunting folk-like songs weaving through the show. 

But quite honestly, all you really have to do is sit and silently admire the staggering virtuosity of the performers – Anna Bubníková, Jiří N Jelínek, Ivo Sedláček, Pavol Smolárik and Matija Solce.  Not only are they accomplished singers and musicians – violin, cello, double bass, piano accordion and a jaw-dropping array of percussion implements, including at one point a scythe – but also puppeteers, mime artists and comedians with very impressive physical dexterity and an impeccable sense of timing.

There’s a lot of vodka, some tea, two tiny steam locomotives, glasses of all shapes and sizes, an urn, a Eurasian woodcock…

And among it all, an irrepressible zest for and celebration of life

Yes, we will die

But later…tomorrow…

Not today!

Fekete Seretlek: KAR, Manipulate Festival, Festival Theatre Studio, Edinburgh, Runs until 5^th February for tickets go to: Kar – Capital Theatres