Coastal Currents 2019 - 'Dance Movies' at the Kino - Review

I like cinema. I like dance. I like music. So the three for the price of one ‘Dance Movies' at the Kino-Teatr as part of this year's Coastal Currents, was an absolute must. It not only motivated me to leave the house, but it also made me want to write a review.

The event was split into two halves. The first half contained three, very different short films in which performance was either the main, or integral, part of a wider visual and narrative composition.

The first film I Am Weather (Rebecca Marshall/Nichola Bruce/Clare Whistler) was a triptych projection filmed at the Library of Water in Stykkishulmur, Iceland. 

The triple screens alternated between close-ups of fast moving water or spray, and dancer Clare Whistler viewed through a lighthouse lens. It appeared as if it had been filmed in an empty room in a tall glass building with a distant view of an urban skyline. The remarkable effect was to capture the dancer in a way that distorted her body, elongated her limbs and finally made her physically disappear altogether as if melting into the floor. The water sequences, that seemed different each time, provided an intense soundscape. It was a wonderful combination of the free flowing and the confined in a meditative union of shades of grey and elemental hydro-sonics.

The second film Klipperty Klopp 2 (Andrew Kotting/Yumino Seki) was also a split-screen and shades of grey affair. Funnily enough the last thing I reviewed was Kotting’s ‘Lek and the Dogs’ so it was very interesting to see this much earlier and now reinvented work.

On the left screen was Kotting’s original 1984 film of a man energetically running round a field in Gloucestershire pretending to be a horse. On the right this had been re-created with dancer Yumino Seki, more of whom later. The two films mirrored each other although the original was filmed almost completely in the rural environment, whereas Yumino Seki’s re-enactment also brought in some urban grit. This included segments in which she was quite brilliantly placed in front of a wall with the legible graffiti reading 'Take your poo…'. Given the slapstick speed of the characters and the original narration about the funny/crazy man and his horse, there was definitely humour. However, the tension between the absurdly humorous and the reality of two people running in marked, repetitive and seemingly futile patterns while negotiating relationships with their accumulated detritus, was also quite uncomfortable at times. The whole thing ended close to home with Yumino Seki on Hastings beach, barely able to hang on to her wildly flapping metaphor in the fierce wind. I so wanted her to just let it go.

Film three was Experiments with a Danse Macabre (Nichola Bruce/Patricia Langa/Daniel Hay-Gordon). Another film that dealt with confinement, Patricia Langa danced out the tension of being within ever decreasing walls, amidst a world of projected images. From a painterly perspective this film was lovely to watch. The layering of images, colour, texture, dark and light and movement made the film an ever changing and beautiful visual spectacle. The subject of death, or the ability of the dancer protagonist to inflict it at great personal cost, was told in the manner of a fairy tale. I accepted the artistic license in the telling of the tale and the beautiful package it came in, right until the last clichéd line: “we are all equal in death”, at which I sighed, possibly audibly. I'm afraid we are as equal in death as we are in life and that is not very equal at all.

The second half was just brilliant. Exspira Machina/Kwaidan AI was a combination of live music, dance and film. Afrit Nebula provided the music, Yumino Seki the dance and Mark French the visuals. The description of the pieces as ‘a ghost in the machine trapped by a scanner, unable to escape her own memory’ doesn’t come even remotely close to communicating the astounding amount of stuff that was going on here.

Musically it was a multi-layered fusion of jazz, rock, world, sacred, experimental - in fact there are all sorts of genres you could try and define this trio with but really, really good is probably best. There was a lot to it, both instrumentally and vocally, and it was very tight.

The visuals in this part of the evening ranged from a kind of ambient, spectrum loop to a mesmerising film of industrial machinery. A Victorian pumping station (I think) working a continuous and massive, rhythmic sequence of power and painted ironwork. Hard to believe this was normal less than a century ago.

From the left Yumino Seki appeared slowly and silently and the combination of music, visuals and live dance completely took over. The interplay between the three was superb. At first it was hard to know what to focus on but after a while there was a kind of emotional and sensual absorption into the whole. It was a wonderful experience.

On a personal note, I spent most of the 80s living in Japan and it was magic to see a butoh trained dancer for the first time in about 30 years. In Hastings! 

The Artists

  

Film Makers  

Nichola Bruce - https://www.nicholabruce.com/projects-in-development/

Rebecca Marshall - http://rebeccaemarshall.com/filmmaker/

Andrew Kotting - http://www.andrewkotting.com/

Mark French - http://shootonsite.org/index.php/mark-french

Dancers & Choreography  

Yumino Seki  - https://yuminoseki.webs.com/

Clare Whistler - http://www.clarewhistler.co.uk/

Daniel Hay Gordon - https://www.danielhay-gordon.com/

Patricia Langa 

Musicians

Afrit Nebula - http://www.afritnebula.com/

Venue and Host

Kino Teatr  - kino-teatr.co.uk

Coastal Currents - http://coastalcurrents.org.uk/

Images
Images for 'I am Weather' and 'Klipperty Klopp' found in public domain. (Was unable to find an image for 'Experiments towards a Danse Macabre' (or a website link for Patricia Langa). 
Images of Afrit Nebula and Yumino Seki courtesy of Neil Partrick.

Shit Happens

As was apparent from my last post, living in a village does not make me the happiest bunny in the world. Ironic really given how many bunnies there are around here. Yes the house is beautiful, the garden is beautiful, there's a separate annexe, a summer house, a garage, a drive, two garden sheds, a vegetable garden and a hexagonal greenhouse. There is an extra piece of land where I've started a small sculpture garden. This is just across a path to the station where I can easily get on a train back to my beloved. (I.E. London). So what  am I complaining about?

From the outside it looks idyllic. Factor in that old chestnut of British, or is it more English, cultural aspiration and it looks like I've really made it. I have the detached house in the countryside and in the kitchen I even have that marker of contemporary, middle classness - an Aga. I'm a success. I'm a pleb made good. I can now wander off into the rural sunset content in my coloured wellies. I can drop all that complex baggage of background, class and family trauma. If it isn't visible to anybody else why draw attention to it?

Aye... there's the rub.

People from poor backgrounds, especially women who escape their still rigidly predictable class trajectory, become very good listeners and quick and comprehensive learners. They ask questions in order not to have to answer them. They learn how to blend in by not drawing attention to themselves. They move with stealth, make sure they are good at whatever job needs to be done to keep them moving, and are usually easy going and fun at parties. Strategically, that last one helps a lot. 

Having negotiated an adult understanding of the pain of being perceived negatively in formative years, and having learned how to swallow that anger, means they are not generally judgemental themselves. They are fluid and discreet and very few people get to know them very well.

The first legacy of a poor background comes when you realise how much knowledge you have not been exposed to and thus your ability to communicate is severely curtailed.  You cannot talk confidently about what you know because that will expose you and you know from experience that your reality is best kept obscure. The second legacy, of an often chronic lack of confidence begins here.  It is compounded as you move through life and find that your view of how things are is so different from your majority, middle class counterparts that you believe you must surely be wrong.

So here I am in the countryside looking like a success story and feeling utterly miserable. For the first time in decades I am revisiting some of those class insecurities. I am back in the vicinity of my birth - a place I never wanted to return to. I am not here because of a considered decision about being tired of my international city life or wanting to signal my achievements with that detached house in the country. I am here because my brother took his own life and then, somewhere in the profound, emotional chaos that followed, I lost mine. 

I am here. Isolated. Bored. Anxious. However, I seem to function and from the outside it seems as if I've blended in here too but I feel nothing. I do nothing. I cannot get any traction. Everything moves slowly and often does not move at all. Three decades of international urban life - my life and all that contributes to the person I think I am -  is irrelevant. It's as if the life between leaving and returning to the same geographical space never happened. I feel like a stranger to myself in a compensatory property. 

It would of course be easier with children and grandchildren. Being childless is particularly tough in a village where conversation, connection and belonging revolve so much around family life. Tried blending in with a dog for a while but that was disastrous. Rescue dog + rescue human was never going to work in this case.

I'm increasingly concluding that I'm just not cut out for life in a village. In a city you can be anybody, or nobody, just like everybody else. There are beautiful strangers and the strangest beauties. Numerous, spontaneous and random moments of humaness. There is movement and colour, life and surprises. Most of all there are possibilities and there are people like me. 

I will never be tired of London but I am often tired of life these days. Will someone please buy me a flat in a London postcode. Any postcode will do! I'm not fussy. 

Crowhenge - A Community Art Project

It is an unavoidable fact that I am a bit morose living in a village after 3 decades of international city life, however, the drive to convince myself otherwise has at least resulted in a project. So ladies and gentlemen I give you.... CROWHENGE! 

The project began as an adjunct to the Crowhurst Neighbourhood Plan (NP) a community strategy which emerged over the past 3 years to give the village influence in how local housing development quotas are managed. In an earlier attempt to convince myself I belong, I volunteered to build and manage the substantial NP website. In the lead up to what was a very successful NP referendum, I was asked to submit ideas for an art project to represent the village and reflect the community ethos that had underpinned the NP. 

This was the basic proposal: 

Crowhurst sits in an area of outstanding natural beauty in which trees are one of the dominant features of the landscape. 'Crowhenge' will use local woods to create a 7-piece structure linked to key elements of village life: Community, Environment, Heritage, Youth, Business, Farming and Sanctuary. All community groups, businesses and organisations in the village can then contribute something that represents them.  

One of the woodland trusts in the village RSPB Forewood generously donated the wood for the project. I had Oak, Sycamore, Silver Birch and Hornbeam. Stage one was trimming, shaping and sanding. 

The project began in March and was installed in July. It is ongoing in the sense that people can still add things to it at any time. It is the first time I have done a project of this nature from concept through to completion on my own. It was tough but I am pleased with how it turned out in the end. It was also great to meet people like the 92 year old master carver in the village who created the title sign and to work with the school and various other youth groups in the village. Working with kids is great. They have none of those adult insecurities about 'art' so you don't have to constantly reassure and cajole them into getting involved and then (often) have to do it yourself anyway. 

Full details of the project and how it unfolded are on the website and the Crowhenge Facebook page so will just post some project images here. 

Review - Lek and the Dogs, Electric Palace Hastings

I saw Lek and the Dogs at the Electric Palace Cinema in Hastings on Friday evening. It is based on the true story of Ivan Mishukov, who left his abusive home at four and lived with street dogs for two years before being picked up and put into children's homes. His transition into adulthood seemed to work for a while but he was unable to sustain it. 

The film was quite an experience. A friend of mine, who had seen it in London, asked me on Facebook what my review of the film was. My immediate reply was:

“Great apart from a tad too much not entirely convincing crying from Lek, and the tiresome, smugly dogmatic (no pun intended) philosophising. The film would have been much more effective by cutting out that guy entirely.... that's my review! :)

As a pithy and amusing comment it works but the film bugged me and kept bugging me. So I looked at the published reviews to see if any of them reflected what my own reaction had been.

I found a lot of reviews. All of them stuck to pretty much the same format but not always in the same order: a plot synopsis, varying degrees of sycophancy and a focus on cinematic form and reference, literary and philosophical influences and assessing where the body of work fits in director Andrew Kötting’s oeuvre. There was a fair range of opinion on these things and not everybody enjoyed the experience. The BBC’s film critic Mark Kermode obviously did. This film is right up his street. He was  going to find several avenues of pleasure in this movie and he did. So far, so predictable.  To be fair, however, he did also say (as did others) that what people took from this film would be entirely personal. That is absolutely the case but then again is that not the case with any film or work of art?  

There seemed to be very little about the actual content - the emotional content I mean - and surely it is the story and the trauma and how those emotions are conveyed that is the point here.  Introducing the film at the Electric Palace, Andrew Kötting said that he wanted people to feel these things. That is commendable enough but it makes an assumption that the audience are strangers to such feelings and the director is therefore providing a service to allow them to understand trauma at a safe distance.  Often it seemed as if the director was ‘bludgeoning’ his audience (a word used in more than one review) to emote, and to feel pain. In that respect the film is very much of its time. Public displays of trauma: parents of murdered children, victims of violence, abuse, terror - trauma as spectacle seems to be a news requirement these days.

Mainstream film reviewers are obviously not keeping up although a couple of the reviews mentioned the word ‘emotional’. The problem was that none of them really communicated any and what I wanted to know was how the film made them feel and what they thought of the subject. 

Perhaps it is in the nature of ‘educated’ reviewers to not go there. They retain that vague sense of contempt for public expression of emotion but it’s fine if it’s either fiction, or cinematised ‘truth’ that can be glossed over in an analysis of the form in which it is presented. The reality of the story effectively becomes secondary to the package in which it comes. 

I could not access the pay to read reviews but the available quotes suggested they were much the same content-wise, if more critical of the film overall. The most succinct and effective review was probably Eye for Film’s, Amber Wilkinson who avoided the verbiage and managed to tell you everything you needed to know without actually losing sight of Lek - the film’s subject.

What I found most strange and disturbing is what appears to be the complete disconnect between telling and reviewing a tale of childhood trauma, without understanding just how triggering that can be for audience members who have suffered childhood trauma. The director joked that walkouts had previously occurred perhaps because people thought they were coming to see Show Dogs or Isle of Dogs. The muted ripple of laughter in the room was muted I suspect because half of this audience didn’t have a clue what either of these films were.

I am sure that some of the walkouts have been because the rawness of it has been too overwhelming for those who don’t have the luxury of understanding trauma at a distance. In fact I am not sure it is possible to understand trauma at a distance.

The audio-visual noise may be another reason people walk out. It was phenomenally loud, intense and often distorted. For people who do not find peace at the centre listening to industrial noisecore, I can see why the soundtrack could present not only emotional challenges, but physical, aural discomfort as well.  

The difficult thing for me to take in this film, however, was the philosophising drone that effectively concluded you’re fucked. Your trauma will inform your actions in endless repetitive cycles and there’s no escape. Such a message is potentially devastating. People who have been traumatised are painfully aware that it is still informing their actions.  They have been forced to understand it and forced to find ways to alleviate that cycle in order to survive both emotionally and physically. The glibness of this single, simplistic, philosophical overdub, threatened to reduce a complex and quite remarkable piece of cinema to a smug, undergraduate observation. Because of this I couldn’t help feeling that Lek/Ivan had actually been a bit dissed by having his story and his trauma used to conveniently park a philosophy that does neither Lek, nor actually the film, justice. However, I am seeing this film as a standalone piece. In the context of the trilogy perhaps there is a wider angle. At least the humour kicked in as the (cruelly) paraphrased drone continued …  yer’ all gonna die, the planet’s gonna die. No shit Sherlock!  

We live in an age of anxiety, dystopia and fear masked by increasingly absurd levels of pretence that we are all unique and heroic individuals who can make a difference. We are simultaneously more empathetic and quicker to shut down. We are all one of Lek’s crowd on the street desperate for recognition. With no certainty about what we are supposed to be recognised for, or who is supposed to be doing the recognising, we are constantly recalibrating our identities just to feel comfortable. Going underground is not an option we have.

It is an exhausting time in which to live. The film communicates this, at times in a profoundly beautiful way but it is the beauty of Lek himself that you should be taking home with you. 

Links:

BFI Interview with Andrew Kotting

Hattie Naylor
First dramatisation of Ivan Mishukov's story, which formed the foundation of this film, was Hattie Naylor's play 'Ivan and the Dogs'. 

Xavier Tchili 

Actor - Lek (hard to find info and this is out of date but has some biographical content).

Lek and the Dogs twitter feed

'Rotten Tomatoes' review list

And finally. .

This is the front lawn of our motel in Havelock. There are two US military facilities in this town and just up the road is a newer and snazzier fighter jet also presented as a public artwork. You see a lot of this. In 2009 we stayed in a tiny town motel in Utah that was opposite a recreation ground with a 20 foot missile standing on a plinth. Bit like North Korea.

There's no escaping just how huge a domestic deal the US military is. Expressions of support are evident everywhere. On T-shirts, baseball caps, bumper stickers, billboards, radio and TV ads and in lots of named memorial highways.

Since the advent of Trump's caricature presidency, coverage of the US has become all about him which inevitably ends up negatively caricaturing the whole nation and its people as well. This a shame because the people aren't the president. I like Americans. I love the fact that I get a chorus of good mornings and big smiles when I walk into a diner for breakfast in the morning feeling like shit after a shit night's sleep. That huge shot of positive has rescued me several times on this trip and I really appreciate it. 

It is inevitable that I am comparing how I am now to the person I was on the last road trip in 2009. It has not been a comfortable reflection on time and getting older but a realisation (for both of us) of the impact of events over the past 5 years on our mental health and on our relationship. Just to recap that includes the suicide of two, close family members, a reactive relocation to a tiny village after more than three decades of a life and career in international cities and finally, caring for my mother until her death 3 months ago. That's quite a lot of stuff and there's actually more in the backstories..... but that'll do for now!

Anyway, the upshot is a cycle of mutually reinforcing anxiety that at times, makes us each feel we are constantly under attack from the other. It's exhausting and can turn even the simplest decisions into a minefield. The most crushing part is that being aware of it doesn't actually help that much. Still we have managed to get to the final day of the trip without killing each other and the serendipity of finding a vacant room in Smithfield, Virginia with a balcony and this view has been pretty amazing. Especially sitting here last night watching the lightning show that preceded a tropical southern downpour.

The original plan for this trip was to go North to the lakes and mountains of the Adirondacks in upstate New York.  Despite the occasionally unbearable heat, humidity and mosquitoes,  I am very happy that we had a last minute shift and decided to come South. That laid back, positive and hospitable southern vibe has been very calmimg when the tension has been as high as the humidity. Saturday was particularly good. We ended up in the 'original Washington' - a North Carolina coastal town - on their festival night.  This meant we spent the evening in a waterfront park listening to a great band called the Embers and watching what seemed like the entire town, country line-dancing to pretty much anything the band played. This was a lot of fun and hugely enjoyable to unexpectedly be part of such a local experience.

However, before I get too carried away on the US feelgood factor that I appreciate so much, I have to acknowledge that it can go a little over the top. Not from the generosity and openess of the people but certainly from motel publicity executives. Having to look at this every time I sat on the toilet in the Hampton Inn, knowing there was a fighter jet parked on the front lawn, did make me consider random acts of violence....

Nowhere.. middle of..

It's not really the middle of nowhere but this tiny strip of land off the North Carolina coast has the Atlantic pretty much on both sides. A lot of it is national wildlife reserve and there are coastal forests in the mix as well. Here's a slightly blurry map.

We spent 3 nights in Avon at a classic, old motel that looked a bit shabby on the outside but was clean, comfortable and pretty much right on the beach. Swimming in the Atlantic can be quite challenging. People surf here so the waves can be pretty fierce but it's a really exhilarating way to start the day and the only thing I would ever consider doing before coffee. 

Great walk around Pea Island Wildlife Reserve lake. Not much there ....

... apart from birds, turtles and otters.

We left Avon and headed down the strip then took 2 seperate ferries back onto the mainland. The ferry rides were great. Three hours looking at this ...

... and an occasional pelican.

Since then it's been pretty much this.....

This..

Lots of these...

And the pretty awesome experience of watching the comings and goings of an osprey's nest in my new favourite place which is the Croatan National Forest.

It all sure beats this..

Tappahannock, Suffolk and Dismal Elizabeth

Drove out of Washington to Tappahannock via lunch and a bookshop in Fredericksburg. Then via a vinyl store to Suffolk where we got an unusually good view for a roadside motel.

Up and out to the Great Dismal Swamp for a hike which was supposed to be 4 miles to the huge mid-swamp Drummond Lake and then 4 miles back. But.... we only managed 2.5 miles and had to turn around. The heat and humidity were just too much. Our previous experience of this southern climate was Louisiana, Mississippi and Arkansas in July 2002. This was much tougher than that even tho North Carolina is further north and we are only just into June so it's a bit crazy. However...... the walk we did manage was pretty amazing.

The air was buzzing with swampy bird and insect sounds and there were basking turtles, jumping frogs, zebra swallowtails and other really big butterflies all around.

So the Great Dismal Swamp was anything but dismal ... unlike that night's motel in Elizabeth City which was totally shit. Still, it's never dull with bikers next door, a posse of drunks stumbling back at around 1.00am and then a massive girl-boy fight kicking off in the car park at  3.30am.  Thank god for earplugs.

Here's a couple of typical US town pics taken near the motel. It wasn't all dismal - the IHOP restaurant breakfast was awesome.

Like road trips we've done before, we're avoiding big highways so you get to see backroads, small towns and interesting garden design.

In the rural areas of North Carolina you see mile upon mile of crop fields framed by swamp-edge forests and isolated farmhouses under vast skies.

You rarely see any people but you see a lot of buzzards!