Posts: 38

1. 

   Budding British Talent

   22.May.08, 08:45 EDT
   
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   With the honourable reward of opening this year’s V Festival looming, the bloodthirsty battle between the 14 band finalists at Road to V has begun.
   
   Whittled down from 2500 entrants, the chosen contestants have in recent weeks been clashing, thrashing, and bashing away at the Carling Academy (in both London and Liverpool), making more noise than Amy Winehouse's cry for help.
   
   They’re all striving to earn the opportunity to join the bigwigs (à la Muse, Kaiser Chiefs, Kings of Leon, Stereophonics, The Prodigy, The Kooks, and The Verve to name but a few) at one of the largest outdoor music events of the summer.
   
   It’s all under the watchful gaze of Channel 4, who will be televising the eventful build up to V Festival on small screens nationwide from mid-June. The ‘expert’ panel (made up of ex-Libertine Carl Barat, Mark Beaumont from NME, A&R man Sav Remzi, and Paul Samuels from Crown Music Management) will then decide who gets the gong with the help of viewer votes.
   
   Last week I saw three groups of promising young things at London’s Carling institute in Islington: a 17,000 square foot dark and dank gig space, with quality acoustics and a reasonably intimate capacity of 800. It doesn’t feel particularly rock ‘n’ roll situated right in the middle of a shopping mall surrounded by the Wagamama, Accessorize and Starbucks chain gang, but some creative visuals and smoky effects quickly help you forgot about the commercial vacuum outside.
   
   First to take the stage is Fat Sue, a Brixton-bred foursome that bounce about like pre-pubescent-looking Arctic Monkeys (if that’s at all possible), but with a funkier edge thanks in part to their excellent drummer, Alex Walker. The crowd obviously enjoys Fat Sue’s big old brouhaha of bass, guitars, and unfettered frolics, but when they have the audience right in their grasp they really could milk it just that little bit more.
   
   Act number two, The Rebs (my highlight of the evening) make a massive impact with their modern synth-pop, getting right down to business faster than you can scream “rock on!” while throwing corna devil-horned hand gestures.
   
   Made up of Russell Edmonds (guitar,vocals) Vicky Averre-Beeson (Keyboards,vocal) Sim Cracknell (Drums), and Nader Rezaie (Bass) The Rebs are like a cross-between The Zutons and Dandy Warholes (you expect the chick on keyboards to flash her breasts at any minute).
   
   Led with gusto by a couple of fuzzy-haired dudes, The Rebs play a tight set of indie, rock, reggae, ska, and pop made up of catchy original tunes and a whole lot of charm.
   
   Last and, in my opinion, least is Imperial Leisure. Resembling a testosterone-fuelled crowd of football fans going to a hip-hop fancy dress party, they bounce onto the stage like frogs on speed (and with about as much charisma).
   
   Belting out an aggressive mish-mash on trumpets, keyboards, drums and decks, Imperial Leisure seems lacking in a specific sound or direction, while taking inspiration from everyone from Madness and The Specials to Rage Against the Machine and So Solid Crew.
   
   One guy on the trumpet jumps into the audience for a little, err…blow, after one of the (three) lead singers starts throwing shiny objects into the crowd before headbanging the air. It's all harmless, stage bravado, but the one thing that really lets the side down is the fellow wearing sunglasses. Call me old fashioned, but it is night time. I can only take so much cool.
   
   In all the Road to V Carling Islington gig is a breath of fresh (smoke-machined) air in the festive and fascinating world of budding British talent.
   
   Stay tuned for more Road to V news in the build up to the V Festival in August, and check out http://www.roadtov.com/ and www.channel4.com/music for more information.
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI
   
   

2. 

   Stag & Dagger

   14.May.08, 08:26 EDT
   
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   Forget floods, mud, manure, traffic mayhem, toilet queues and pongy portaloos. If you like your creature comforts then English festivals are best monitored from the confines of your cosy living room; snuggled up on the couch, wearing fresh underwear (yes, it’s the simple things); a cuppa tea in one hand and the television remote in the other.
   
   That is unless you live in the capital, where this week - for one day only – London locals can celebrate a diverse mix of over 100 live up-and-coming bands, DJs, and special guests, right on their doorstep at Shoreditch’s Stag & Dagger festival.
   
   If you missed this year’s Camden Crawl - the annual two-day gigathon where crowds of established indie acts and breaking artists pack out Camden venues to capacity – then here’s your chance to be as dazed, drunk and disorderly as you normally would in the Glastonbury woods, but without having to don Wellies and trudge through sludge, trying to find your bed in an ocean of tents.
   
   S&D runs in a similar vein to both the Camden Crawl and New Cross’s increasingly popular Rocklands event, and it’s spread over 12 venues in Shoreditch, ranging from the – shall we say – ‘chaste’ surroundings of St Leonard's Church, to the grimy grittiness of East London’s old faithfuls: 93 Feet East, Cargo, Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen, The Electricity Showrooms, Vibe Bar, Old Blue Last, T Bar, The Macbeth, Favela Chic, East Village, Bar Music Hall, the Slaughtered Lamb, and Last Days of Decadence, to name but a few.
   
   Thursday’s shenanigans is a combined effort by organisers Adventures In The Beetroot Field (a Camden-based promotions collective ‘winning plaudits far and wide for the unique musical experiences that they provide’), PR gurus Margaret, and the controversial but ever-entertaining bohemian champions at Vice magazine. It’s also hosted by some of London’s best promoters and labels including Modular, Ed Banger, Young & Lost, Kill 'Em All, Moshi Moshi, Allez Allez, and Fluokids.
   
   Among the big guns at the event are electro/techno funksters Filthy Dukes, DJ’s from Hot Chip, Brooklyn banshees Telepathe, and Philadelphia's prolific producer Diplo (who’s worked with Justice and M.I.A.), as well as Archie Bronson Outfit , Operator Please, Greco Roman Wrestling, A Trak, SebastiAn, Das Pop, The Duke Spirit, Atlas Sound, and Kid Harpoon plus many more.
   
   So get your shiny stilettos down to Shoreditch’s concrete jungle this Thursday and celebrate the Stag & Dagger’s music-filled, mud free, free lovin’ experience from the convenience of your own urban back yard.
   
   Stag & Dagger
   Thursday 15th May, 6pm - late (staggered opening times for live music venues: Vibe Bar will open at 4pm. Most venues will close between 12am and 2am)
   http://www.staganddagger.com/
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

3. 

   Memory: One

   01.May.08, 12:41 EDT
   
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   Performers - past and present – at this venerable institution read like a who’s who of the theatre world: Ewan McGregor, Kenneth Branagh, Joanna Lumley, Ben Kingsley, Alan Rickman, Gary Oldman, Kathy Burke, Prunella Scales: many of whose familiar, framed, black and white faces hover intently on the wall at The King’s Head in Islington, overseeing the queues of patient punters assembling inside for tonight’s live show.
   
   The King’s Head is legendary on London’s fringe theatre scene. Founded in 1970 by Dan Crawford (an American theatrical producer) it was the UK’s first theatre pub, and since its creation there have been over 30 transfers to the West End, six to Broadway, and eight national tours. The pub is now widely regarded by critics, thespians and theatre-goers alike as one of the capital’s most prestigious off-West End venues, with consistently inspired productions and performances.
   
   One of the site’s latest theatrical accomplishments, Memory: One, is no exception. Written, produced and directed by talented multi-tasker and sometime actor Gavin Cooper, this dramatic yet pleasantly unfussy psychological thriller (with a minimal set and three actors) boasts more twists and turns than a break-dancer on acid.
   
   It all begins in the darkness of a small cabin on the Matterhorn, where three survivors of a freak avalanche are awaiting their imminent rescue. An already intense atmosphere is cranked up a few notches when the play begins but the stage lights don’t come on, and the audience starts to realise that they might be sitting in the shadows for the next 60 minutes, the only illumination of which comes from torches wielded by our three perturbed actors.
   
   The initial tone feels like the spooky tent scene in indie horror flick The Blair Witch Project: from the darkness there’s a fear of the unknown, instances when all we see is black, and all we have to rely on is the near-panicked voices of our actors. The King’s Head fosters a distinctive intimacy between audience and performer; the action is within arms reach of your seat. Sometimes the performers shift from the stage into the seating aisles and behind the back row, effectively utilising the space. We almost feel like we are trapped in the cabin with them.
   
   Not long into the play it transpires that one of the characters, John, has suffered memory loss from the avalanche accident, so James and Samantha endeavour to help him recover. But after a series of peculiar incidences and strange inconsistencies the pair begin to question who ‘John’ really is. With suspicion and paranoia ascending it is only a matter of time before accusations are thrown, tensions between the trio rise and doubt is cast over the identity of all three.
   
   Memory: One (the first play of a trilogy) is a clever, crafty and gripping dramatic work that promises big things for Cooper and his cast. Robert Wedig is an intense and powerful John who portrays both compassionate and psychotic tendencies perfectly in equal doses, keeping us guessing to the very end whether he is friend or foe.
   
   Sarah Strong brings a compelling resilience to Samantha, a woman torn between two men who may - or may not - be her husband. She carefully represents her character’s inner strength, vulnerability and desperation, without coming across as melodramatic or flimsy. This is an actress who obviously excels in dramatic roles, and is a name to watch out for on the fringe theatre scene.
   
   With equal vigor Simon Tcherniak skillfully exposes James as an intolerant and slightly defeated victim with the necessary elements of aggravation and frustration, demanding a strong – and sometimes comic - stage presence, even in calmer moments.
   
   Cooper and his dramatis personae have joined the great wealth of talent to have treaded the famous boards of The King’s Head stage. Perhaps soon we’ll see their black and white portraits on that prestigious wall?
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

4. 

   Durrants Hotel

   21.Apr.08, 09:35 EDT
   
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   Tucked away just off Marylebone’s bustling High Street is a hotel that combines modern comfort with old school elegance. Genteel and inviting, the Durrants is formal and refined, without being stuffy. This isn’t the Ritz (ornate chandeliers, marble columns, excessively opulent surroundings), and it isn’t Travelodge either. Needless to say the Durrants is somewhere in between, and it’s far more snug and welcoming than both establishments combined.
   
   When you first step into the Durrant’s hotel lobby it feels like you’ve arrived at a classic country estate, but with the convenience of being in central London. George Street is a relatively calm avenue of the West End: occupied, but not too busy; residential but a stone’s throw from Marylebone High Street and the West End’s main artery: Oxford Street.
   
   Not without its imperfections (bouncy floors, dated décor, peculiar touches like a sofa placed on the side of a corridor – odd, but convenient if you’ve knocked back a few too many brandy’s at the bar and can’t quite make it to bed!), the Durrant’s endearing flaws and quintessential English character make it all the more charming.
   
   With 92 rooms joined by winding corridors, adorned with original art and antiques throughout, the hotel has a timeless quality, and its elegant fixtures stand as a reminder of the building’s 18th century origins. Created from a terrace of Georgian houses the hotel has incorporated several neighbouring residences into the original structure, with the key features being its restaurant and bar; open to both residents and non-residents.
   
   The bar’s cosy communal side rooms offer the perfect place for visitors to unwind, with pine-and-mahogany-panels, leather arm chairs, painted portraits, and large windows (ivy framed on the outside) overlooking genteel George Street. Drinks come with complimentary crisps (I'm also treated to some tasty wee cocktail sausages) and the bar staff are friendly and efficient.
   
   My room is poky but cosy, with dark wood furniture and a decent bed. There’s a reasonable sized wardrobe (containing a safe), a confined but clean bathroom, and a plasma screen TV that stands out against its old-fashioned surroundings. Striped cream wallpaper and an embroidered floral bed quilt make it feel like you’ve stepped back in time. The furnishings are traditional and outdated, while being as quaint and familiar as your grandmother’s guest room.
   
   Feasting in the decorous restaurant is a pleasant dining experience. The menu features heavily on traditional British fare such as roast beef (carved in front of you), as well as some tasty alternatives: sea bass, gravlax, and delicious desserts including crusty crème brûlée and poached pear tart with cream served by an attentive gentleman waiter dressed in customary attire who's as sweet as the treats he serves. Breakfast (English or continental) is dished up in the restaurant from 10.00am.
   
   My night at Durrants Hotel was a warming experience; I felt like I had stayed with family. This little-known, privately-owned gem is a modest, relaxing alternative to the countless - and incredibly pretentious - designer hotels popping up all over London. It’s unlikely you’ll find any diva celebrities being 'papped' outside of here; the Durrants establishment is far too classy for such shenanigans. With incredibly friendly, helpful, and courteous staff, it’s a relief to visit a hotel that is superior in service and remains faithful to time-honoured British traditions.
   
   Durrants Hotel, George Street, Marylebone, London W1H 5BJ
   Reservations: 020 7935 8131
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

5. 

   Road to V

   17.Apr.08, 10:59 EDT
   
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   Since his shambolic, guitar-rock four-piece The Libertines inevitibly self-destructed in 2004 after two poetic/punk albums (a demise mostly thanks to co-crooner Pete Doherty: jailbird junkie and current lead songster of Babyshambles), singer, songwriter, and sometime DJ Carl Barat has moved on to pastures cleaner and greener.
   
   Now the frontman of flourishing Brit band Dirty Pretty Things, Barat has just been announced as the final addition to the panel of advisers at Road to V: the ‘next big thing’ in the UK’s search for unsigned musical talent.
   
   Presently in its fifth year, Road to V has made its name by appealing to the nation’s musically-inspired mere mortals to compete for the exclusive break to open the Virgin V Festival, held annually in Chelmsford and Staffordshire in August.
   
   So far the event has nurtured some remarkable new talent, with bands such as The Young Knives, The Brightlights, and Bombay Bicycle Club all having taken its influential stage.
   
   The Road to V gig will see the lucky winner (or winners) on the bill of one of the UK’s largest festivals, advised en route by its mentors which includes Barat and other big-name industry figures such as Mark Beaumont from NME, A&R man Sav Remzi, and Paul Samuels from Crown Music Management.
   
   The selected 2008 finalists will play gigs in London and Liverpool (to be broadcast during the summer on Channel 4) where 14 bands will perform and be voted for by our selected celebrity melody masters, and then the legions of loyal fans watching will have the final say.
   
   Barrat’s credentials as a noble and talented lyricist, vocalist, and guitarist, and as one half (and some might say ‘the better half’) of a duo once destined to be the next big thing (but we all know what went wrong there) lend significantly to his being selected to judge Road to V.
   
   Once seen as a shadow to his higher-profile other half Pete Doherty - who revelled in the attention he invited for being a crack addict, model-shagger and general piss-taker - it seems that it’s Barat who’s come out on top. Certainly being a mentor to the next generation of rock, and an inspiration to all of those aspiring young skinny-jeaned rock things out there must feel good for the Dirty Pretty Thing. It sure beats sitting in a cell feeling sorry for yourself.
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI
   
   

6. 

   Brief Encounter

   10.Mar.08, 15:58 EDT
   
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   Just the experience of being at the Cinema Haymarket’s press night for Brief Encounter is a spectacle in itself, and that’s before the show has even started. Members of the company, dressed in classic black usher and usherette attire, guide people to their seats. A chirpy jazz band performs romantic ditties as the audience – many of whom are dressed in appropriate Forties costumes - shuffle in. Butterkist toffee popcorn is available, and a spoof classification certificate appears on the big screen: "suitable for viewing by the incurably romantic".
   
   Director Emma Rice’s latest creative stage effort has very cleverly adapted Noel Coward’s 1945 film into a play, experimenting with both the stage and screen mediums with additional material from Coward's earlier one-act play Still Life (1936).
   
   Rice’s Kneehigh Company adds some original little twists to the play: the lovers swing on chandeliers, the sound of rainfall is created by a watering can on tin, Laura's children are impersonated by puppets and actors walk into the giant screen, immediately transformed into a black and white, one-dimensional film image. Touches like this really take what could have been a straight-forward, mundane play and made it into an artistic masterpiece.
   
   This touching love story begins at the Milford railway refreshment room where our central characters meet after bit of grit flies into the eye of respectable house-wife Laura (Naomi Frederick). Tristan Sturrock's doctor Alec comes to her rescue, and from there begins a brief romantic encounter to a beautiful live soundtrack, which is very often performed by the onstage actors and musicians.
   
   Naomi Frederick is a sincere and sensitive Laura, capturing the character's pain and passion in this frustrating romance. Sturrock is equally as touching in his performance, portraying Alec’s doctor as a charming and innocent gentleman caught up in a poignant, unconsummated love affair. Also worth a mention is Tamzin Griffin who is very funny as Myrtle, the fluttery refreshment room assistant.
   
   Brief Encounter is an enjoyable success with some theatrical flourishes that make the whole experience that extra special: Champagne is served at the entrance, tea and cucumber sandwiches are dished up at the interval, and some filmed comedy sketches are projected onto the screen. It is an inventive and faithful homage to Coward’s unforgettable film.
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

7. 

   Nature vs. Nurture

   30.Jan.08, 05:22 EST
   
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   Are we who we are because that’s just who we are?
   
   Or are we who we are because that’s what we’ve become?
   
   The nature versus nurture debate is one of the great mysteries of the mind, and one that I’ve always felt very passionate about. Not least because I have brothers who are twins (non-identical), who grew up in exactly the same environment and circumstances, but who are polar opposites in every way, physically (one is a small, blond, adventurous extrovert; the other is a tall, brown-haired, shy homebody) and mentally: their likes, dislikes, strengths and weaknesses.
   
   How can two individuals, born and raised in the same way, by the same parents, grow up to be so completely different?
   
   Were they different characters from birth, or did they grow apart?
   
   Some scientists believe we behave as we do according to genetic predispositions or ‘animal instincts’ (nature). Others believe that people perform in certain ways because they are taught to do so (nurture).
   
   But who’s to say scientists know what they’re talking about? I mean, seriously. The only reason we believe these white-coated so-called ‘experts’ is because we’re schooled to believe they are right. But how do we know they actually are?
   
   Why does everything in life have to be verified by expert opinion, scientific proof, methods, formulas, and experiments?
   
   Whatever happened to magic? To coincidence?
   
   We know that heredity and environment are both crucial factors in determining one’s personality: memory, intelligence, creativity, self-esteem. These are some of the things that make people who they are. But people today are too quick to rely on what scientists, doctors, even dentists have to say.
   
   For example, just the other night I was watching a television show called Medicine Men Go Wild on Channel 4, about identical-twin English doctors (Chris and Xand van Tulleken) who travelled to one of the most disease-ridden places on Earth to live with the Bayaka Pygmies in the Congo Basin, a hotbed for killers like Ebola and HIV.
   
   Over the course of a month the Medicine Men lived with the Bayaka, trying to understand how the tribe has managed to thrive for tens of thousands of years in such an unforgiving environment.
   
   Watching the Bayaka’s it was abundantly clear to me: they lived at one with nature, they respected their environment. They didn’t combat it like we do in the West, where the solution for every ailment is hospitalisation and prescription drugs.
   
   Throughout time and throughout the globe natives have employed natural methods to survive, because that is all they know: the power of the mind, folk wisdom, superstition, natural healing. Without modern medicine, would we be better off?
   
   Anyway, I digress. The fact that the Medicine Men are twins was not meant as a convenient tie in to my nature/nurture deliberation, it was just an example of our reliance on modern science. Chris and Xand both share the same profession and a love of adventure and the outdoors, having worked in Vietnam and Guyana (respectively) as doctors. But then they are identical twins and share the same DNA. I think that exempts them from this debate, does it not?
   
   Yes identical twins have a 'nature' advantage. But I have however learnt, thanks to the wisdom of Wikipedia, that although identical twins have identical DNA, the differing environmental influences throughout their lives affect which genes are switched on or off (called ‘epigenetic modification’).
   
   The crux of the matter is: what factors contribute more to the mental development of a person? Nature – their biological and genetic make up? Or nurture – their upbringing and environment?
   
   My point about scientists is that perhaps they should dig a little deeper. The nature/nurture theories may not simply be just about environment and genes. We are who we are because of what is ingrained in us. Not just in our DNA, but in our subconscious too. Could past life experiences have determined our current lives, affecting our relationships, our fears, our soul, and our ongoing spiritual journey? Some theorists believe that certain phobias, like the fear of heights or the fear of water, can be linked directly to painful and traumatic moments just before death in a past life, and that this fear is then carried over to our current life.
   
   As nurture takes our genetic tendencies and moulds them as we grow and experience life, so nature endows us with inborn strengths and traits. But could a past life experience determine who we are today? And if so, would this be considered nature, or nurture? For this is an experience we’ve once had that’s cultivated us, but one that’s also ingrained in our every being.
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

8. 

   Celluloid Beauty

   24.Jan.08, 09:29 EST
   
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   It’s all about aesthetics these days.
   
   And why not? Computer graphics have propelled motion pictures forward, and films more visually gratifying than ever before are being created thanks to the advancement of digital technology and special effects. Comics are coming to life, as real life actors turn up in comics. Dramatic battle scenes are made real, while glittery fantasy lands we only thought possible in our head are rendered on the silver screen.
   
   2007 was a remarkable year of visually inventive, computer-enhanced epics à la 300, Spiderman 3, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Transformers and Beowulf - all meticulously-styled movies: beautiful to behold, but less engaging on the mind than they are on the eye.
   
   Needless to say these are the CG’d (computer-graphic’d), MC’d (motion-captured) times we now live in, and 2007 delivered some crackers.
   
   One that most represents the year past is 300: a toned, honed, homo-erotic marathon that recreated the ancient battle of Thermopylae using a combination of real life actors and computer-generated imagery.
   
   Sexy and slick, with sepia undertones and splashes of colour, 300 looks not unlike another graphics masterpiece, Sin City (also an adaptation of comic book guru Frank Miller’s). Both are film noir features of contrast and contradictions, fusing the vivid and flat, the energetic and the still, on desaturated canvases of black and white. But despite the fact 300 is such a spectacle, there isn’t much substance past the eye candy and eye-popping action.
   
   Beowulf on the other hand went one step further. While sticking to the ‘bulging-biceped he-man-hero-saves-the-day’ premise that 300 mastered, it can also take responsibility for resurrecting the fashion accessory we all thought had died in the '80s: 3D glasses.
   
   Yes, movies have evolved, but sadly 3D glasses haven’t. They are still the cumbersome cardboard monstrosities they were when Jaws 3D came out in ’83 (those of us old enough to remember). But if you can stand wearing these giant goggles for near-on two hours, Beowulf is a must see. Again, a somewhat soulless movie, but visually spectacular and significant all the same.
   
   One film that didn’t disappoint in the substance stakes was David Cronenberg’s (A History of Violence, Crash) atmospheric mob thriller Eastern Promises. A murky, moody, modern-day London is reflected through Cronenberg’s creative eyes, incorporating his trademark blood and violence, while actor Viggo Mortensen brings a whole new meaning to nude wrestling.
   
   Though they were very much in the minority, 2007 was not without the odd memorable comedy (Knocked Up, Two Days in Paris), western (The Assassination of Jesse James, 3:10 to Yuma), or drama (Atonement, A Mighty Heart). But despite the fact these are all noteworthy films, they just didn’t meet the 2007 checklist: flashy effects, explosions and unashamed expense.
   
   Yes, admit it: modern day cinema is all about prettiness. Think of it as the Pamela Anderson of film: nice to look at, but not much going on inside. Perhaps 2008 will see a return of the humble geek-flick. Napoleon Dynamite Strikes Back anyone?
   
   By Abbey Stirling

9. 

   Tim Burton is God

   13.Jan.08, 07:18 EST
   
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   Yes, Tim Burton is God, in my very humble opinion.
   
   I’ve been an admirer of his stylishly quirky grunge-goth movies since I saw Beetlejuice as a kid, when I educated myself on being as angst-ridden and sombre as Winona Ryder’s death-obsessed oddball Lydia.
   
   Three years later I adored them both all over again, when Ryder embodied teenage sexpot Kim in Burton’s enchanting pastel/punk picture Edward Scissorhands: a Frankenstein-esque fairytale with shadowy undertones about a shy suburban outsider persecuted by society.
   
   Johnny Depp starred as the sallow, scissor-handed outcast, in what was the first of six collaborations with the director (including Ed Wood, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Corpse Bride), in a creative partnership that would span 17 years.
   
   Sweeney-mania is now storming the UK in the build-up to the release on January 25 of the of the widely anticipated Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Having already experienced this blood-soaked sing-a-long/slasher flick first hand, I’m pretty adamant it’s going to triumph, both commercially and critically, despite the fact that there’s barely a spoken word in close to three hours. But then I like musicals; unfortunately some don’t. Needless to say they might soon be swayed.
   
   The film’s present status as an Oscar front-runner should surely secure its success at the box office, as will the devotion of die-hard Burton buffs, and Depp’s loyal league of lady admirers. Fanbases aside, this is a brilliant work of art. Todd has everything you could want in a feature (forbidden love, lost love, lust, blood, throat-cutting, cannibalism, deception, and reprisal), spanning several genres simultaneously (comedy/horror/musical/romance). It’s a beautiful and brooding, ghoulish gothic masterpiece, with bold performances amid velvety Victorian colour.
   
   I’m in London’s Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, where Burton, Depp, Helena Bonham-Carter (Burton’s girlfriend and Mrs Lovett in the film) et al are gathering to promote their grisly latest venture. The only cast member missing out on the festivities is Sacha Baron-Cohen (otherwise known as the neon-swimsuit-wearing Borat), who gives a hilarious turn as hair product salesman Signor Adolpho Pirelli in the film.
   
   Alan Rickman (who plays paedophilia-provoking Judge Turpin) is in attendance, as is Timothy Spall (Beadle Bamford), but despite the fact that these are two very esteemed actors in their own right, it’s Depp, Bonham-Carter, and Burton everyone wants a piece of. And they make for a riotously fun afternoon.
   
   For Bonham-Carter, it wasn’t easy procuring the part of pie-making Miss Lovett, despite the fact that she’s the director’s partner. She says, “I had to be righter than right. I mean for my sake, I didn’t want to just feel like I got it because I slept with him. But at the end of the day, Stephen Sondheim, he has final say. And I definitely didn’t sleep with him.”
   Burton: “That’s not what he said.”
   Bonham-Carter: “He wasn’t meant to say.”
   Depp: “I haven’t slept with anyone.”
   Bonham-Carter: “Ever.”
   Depp: “No. But I’ve shaved a few men.”
   Burton: “He’s going to be doing the Village People story next.”
   
   Fun and gags aside, Sweeney Todd tells the tragic tale of a man who appears from the shadows, to a sooty-skied, 19th century London, to seek revenge for the death of his wife. Burton himself transcended as a virtual unknown from the world of animation, to become the visually-driven director we know today, and you can’t help but detect a glimpse of the director himself in Todd: all dishevelled salt-and-pepper hair and pallid features. Could he have played the part better himself? “I said to Johnny if I was an actor this would be the perfect film, because you don’t have to talk you just look out the window and brood and be angry. We saw him (Todd) as a sad character. He’s tragic…basically when you meet him he’s a dead person really. The only thing that’s keeping him going is one single-minded thing, which is, you know, tragic.”
   
   Much has been said about Depp’s singing role, his very first to date and one that, I would say, is wholly successful: “Tim Burton’s the only one brave enough to actually let me try to sing. I would never even sing in the shower, too mortified. Once I got over the initial fear, it was kind of enjoyable. Sondheim’s melodies and lyrics were a real pleasure. Some really beautiful stuff, I enjoyed it. Would I ever do it again? No. I doubt it.”
   
   Hmmm, no chance of a sequel then (shame, with lyrics like: There's a hole in the world/like a great black pit/and it's filled with people who are filled with shit). Nevertheless, it’s transparently clear that everyone involved in this feature is immensely proud of their efforts and the finished product, no one more so than the director himself: “We didn’t want it to be a traditional musical where there’s a lot of dialogue. It’s like a silent movie with music. When I first saw the (stage) show, the imagery, which is quite dark and harsh, set with the music which is quite rich and beautiful, was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and was the reason I wanted to do it. Every day on set was a very special thing for me. I don’t know if I can ever have an experience like that again.”
   
   A radical, creative, quirky visual genius, Burton is one of the greatest directors of our time. Not the conventional crowd-pleaser like Spielberg, or the cryptic surrealist à la Lynch; his work is not as in-your-face as Tarantino’s, nor as severely American as Scorsese’s. Burton is a dark and talented force who allows us access to bleak and twisted dream worlds of fantasy, humour and escapism. He offers the viewer leftfield alternatives to the traditionally slick, money-churning Hollywood productions we’ve mind-numbingly come to endure. He crosses boundaries and takes risks, and no one makes movies quite like him.
   
   By Abbey Stirling/MOLI

10. 

    NME's Rockin' Launch Party

    07.Dec.07, 12:19 EST
    
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    Messy-haired media types, mod rockers, Indie rockers, Goth rockers, and wannabe rockers were out in full force at the NME launch party on Thursday night.
    
    The crowds converging at London’s 02 dome fell into two distinct tune-adoring camps: the aforementioned kings and queens of urban cool who trickled into the intimate indigo2 bar, glammed to the nines in their signature looks: pencil ties, Johnny Borrell-esque mop-tops, defiant expressions.
    
    While next door, flooding into the massive 02 arena, hordes of die-hard Take That fans re-emerged from the '90s to relive their youths in pink fur-trimmed cowboy hats like a giant hen party gone very wrong.
    
    Thankfully the appropriately dark venue (the only light of which came from some funky coloured neon rods on the ceiling and walls) for the NME bash was loud enough to drown out any of the teeny-bop tripe next door. So the skinny-jeaned style crew rocked out in ‘peace’ to Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong, The Wombats, and Queens of Noize.
    
    Unsurprisingly, one rocker who failed to show up for his gig was the soberly-challenged frontman of shambolic group Babyshambles: Pete Doherty. The band’s bassist Drew McConnell and drummer Adam Ficek went ahead without him and equally absent guitarist Mik Whitnall, and performed as a duo with some unexpected support from one of their biggest fans, audience member Jamie Bell who took to the stage for “Carry on up the Morning”.
    
    The deficiency of Doherty’s inaudible murmurings was barely missed, as the well-behaved punters partied hard as only über hipsters can.
    
    By Abbey Stirling/MOLI