And Now, For a Bit of Off-Topic Political Ranting...

In light of the recent Isle of Wight proposal, that young women coming forward for the emergency contraceptive pill be offered birth control on a month-to-month basis, the blogosphere has been alight with ranting and raving against this outlandishly liberal proposal.  As an outlandish liberal myself, as well as a feminist who keeps the issue of reproductive rights near and dear to my little heart, I couldn't help brandishing my laptop and adding my unofficial two-cents to the debate.

Contraception isn't a "license to have sex" as the Conservatives would have you believe. Adolescents will have sex whether or not they have access to contraceptives- this is not a debatable point. Their surging hormones and peaked curiosity are all the "license" they need. Proper contraceptives will, however, help to ensure that the sex they are already having is safer. It will also hopefully make a dent in our staggering teen pregnancy rates. This is good common sense, yes, but it also makes good economic sense. Less teen pregnancies equal less teen mothers on state benefits and more productivity for the next generation. Who can honestly say that a lower benefit bill and higher worker productivity would be a bad thing, particularly in this economic climate?

The propaganda being pushed by the right is that contraceptive pills will be given out willy-nilly, without any medical advice or follow up, and as a substitute for practical sex education. The facts, however, are very different to this and are spelled out clearly in the Isle of Wight's initiative. There will be a follow up, and the pills will only be distributed on a month-to-month basis. This is yet another example of Tory fear-mongering and a reliance on the electoral base blindly believing whatever they're told without doing their own research.

Furthermore, the pill is widely considered to be medically safe with millions of young women being prescribed it each year. While there are a small percentage of girls for whom taking the pill would not be medically sound, the same could be said about all medications including over-the-counter formulations and herbal supplements. Some people will suffer severe allergies to aspirin, for example, but it is not prescribed only on doctor's advice. On a similar note, there are members of the public who have extreme reactions to latex. Are we going to argue that because there's a very slim chance of a girl going into anaphylactic shock due to condom use, that the sale of condoms should be prohibited?

Perhaps the bigger issue is that we have less of a problem with boys taking charge of their sexual health than with girls demanding control over their own bodies.

No one is saying that girls (or boys, for that matter!) as young as 13 should be having sex. Of course they shouldn't, but it does still happen and denying it would be naive. No one is saying that our sex education policies don't need a massive overhaul. They obviously do. No one is claiming that a wider and easier distribution of the pill is the answer to every underage sex problem. For example, the pill doesn't protect against STDs. Still, burying our heads in the sand and pretending the problem doesn't exist isn't the answer. Look where that approach as gotten us, with teen pregnancy rates the highest in Western Europe!

If parents are genuinely concerned about what their kids are up to, they should try asking them. If they feel they can't, or that their kids aren't being honest with them, then perhaps that's a problem which they should address independently of the state.

Rant officially over.

Review of 'The Maddening Rain'

'The Maddening Rain'

Written by Nicholas Pierpan

Directed by Matthew Dunster

Old Red Lion Theatre

31/08/2010 - 18/09/2010

*A darkly comedic look at the City’s final, pre-recession glory days.

Money is a game in Nicholas Pierpan’s new one man show ‘The Maddening Rain’, which tells the story of the economic crisis from the perspective of an unlikely ‘City boy’. Following its protagonist’s rise from disgruntled bank teller to financier on a £400,000 per year bonus, actor Felix Scott quips that the result of the recession was that ‘no one would lend us money to play with’. ‘It’s a big storm. It’s going to fuck things up for awhile. You’ve just got to ride it out and try to make some money while you do,’ are the sage words of his boss. Meanwhile, Felix Scott’s character does ride it out, he does make money, and in the process he readily betrays everyone in his path. The only distraction from accumulating wealth and status is an unlikely encounter with his teenage girlfriend, and what ensues as a result is the spark of his professional and personal ruin.

Felix Scott is engaging and likeable in his role, and he tackles head on the challenge of supporting the weight of the play squarely on his shoulders. Particularly in moments when he portrays his boss, Andy, he displays raw emotional intensity and vulnerability. Likewise, the tenderest moments come when his character is discussing feelings of isolation, and exploring the magnetic pull he feels to his former life and love. Humour is also well utilized, and Felix Scott has excellent timing where this is concerned.

The two main drawbacks for the production are its length and set design. With a runtime of just under 90 minutes, and without an interval, the piece struggles to maintain attention throughout. Although Nicholas Pierpan’s script is engaging, some consolidation would be appreciated in order to cut down on the duration. Secondly, Alison McDowall’s set is very appealing, but it does not serve Felix Scott well and is not practical for the Old Red Lion Theatre. The majority of the space is occupied with a replica of an office, which is accurate and useful in creating the environment, but which renders the large portion of the stage unusable. Felix Scott is left with only a very small amount of bare stage to play. Further complicating this problem is Matthew Dunster’s direction, which finds his actor standing centre stage for the bulk of the time, with his hands firmly in his pockets, while an unused set looms behind him. A set which is more interactive would add variation and visual interest and would allow Felix Scott an opportunity to explore more emotional levels. More importantly, it would give the piece some greatly needed variation.



As a side note, Nicholas Pierpan’s ending to ‘A Maddening Rain’ is well constructed and interesting, but it doesn’t fit with the progression of the rest of the text. The conclusion of the play, although well acted, left more questions than answers. Ultimately, this is a well acted piece with promise, and a few minor changes would go a long way towards improving it further.

Playing August 31st through September 18th at the Old Red Lion Theatre, London.  Review written by Megan Hunter for Fringe Review: http://www.fringereview.co.uk/.  3 Stars.

Homesick

Close your eyes tightly. Now think of ‘home’. Chances are that one distinct image rushes to your mind. For me, the idea of ‘home’ will forever be torn between two very different places. There is 'the home that chose me', and then there is 'the home that I chose'.


It’s strange how our memories consolidate with time. When I think of my grandmother, I think of her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernails. I think of picking strawberries that matched those nails, in her garden, on a warm summers’ evening. I remember her sundress rippling in the breeze as I clutched tightly to her steadying hand.


My memories of my childhood and of 'the home that chose me' are of waves on a clear blue lake, endless expanses of prairie that melt into the skyline, the shrill cries of tornado sirens, and my father’s classic toy car collection. I can still taste my mother’s pancakes and apple cider, can still hear the sound of my fingers descending on the keys of my piano, and can still feel that first, perfect kiss with the first, perfect boy I ever loved. I will always remember the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair as I sped down the highway in my blue Honda Accord (the one with the ‘Free Tibet’ bumper sticker that garnered more than a few curious looks).


My memories of 'the home that I chose' are no less precise. They include taxicab headlights glistening through the rain at Astor Place, Bryant Park covered by a blanket of fresh snow, Grand Central Station brimming with tension at rush hour, and the massive foyer in our apartment with its smooth wooden floors. I can still taste my favourite Venti-Earl Grey-Soy-Tea Misto with two unrefined cane sugars, can still hear the sound of fireworks over the East River on the Fourth of July, and can still feel that first, perfect kiss with the perfect man I married. I will always remember the feeling of sinking into our beige, down-filled sofa with geometrically patterned pillows (the one that cost well over a month’s salary and took even longer to pay off).

Seriously. . . I loved that sofa.

So why the sudden burst of nostalgia? A few weeks ago, I was speaking with a work colleague about New York. Unable to contain my excitement that he would soon be visiting 'the home that I chose', I stuttered inarticulately ‘you should really, really go to . . . uh . . . um... oh god, what was it called? It was on 6th… or was it 16th…?’ Disastrous, just 100%.

I never did remember either the name or the location of my mystery suggestion. Thinking back, I’m not even sure what I was trying to recommend. Was it a restaurant, perhaps, or a vintage clothing store? The fact is, I will never know at this rate. It's gone. Details that only 18 months ago were as real to me as my shoe size have now, inexplicably, disappeared from my mind. Memories from my childhood are even vaguer. They come in brief streaks of colour, sporadic flashes of true sensory overload. I remember my grandmother's nails, but not the sound of her voice. I am losing myself somehow, losing my history, and it completely terrifies me. I feel like an intruder in someone else's life, with a past that I can recite the details of but which I cannot personally recall.

For the first time in recent memory, I am desperately, nauseatingly homesick. Or at least I would be, if I could remember 'home' at all.  So I must try harder.  I must close my eyes more regularly and think of my 'homes'.

The London Theatre Talks 2010

The London Theatre Talks 2010: 'Banks are More Important to Society than Theatre'
London – The Phoenix Artist Club – 24 Aug – 19:00 (0:40)


As a stimulating addition to the London Fringe Festival, the historic Phoenix Artist Club in Soho hosted ‘The London Theatre Talks 2010’.


The talks were a series of panel discussions which featured prominent cultural experts in conversation about issues currently affecting the arts. On Tuesday, August 24th, the topic was: ‘Banks are More Important to Society than Theatre’.


The panel consisted of Nina Caplan, journalist and former Arts Editor of ‘Time Out‘, Shaun Hutchinson, the Editor of ‘New Black Magazine‘, and journalist and actor Ben Holland, who also used to work in the City. The talks were chaired by critic, journalist, and regular chair of the ‘Platform Talks’ at the National Theatre, Aleks Sierz.


In discussing the connection between theatres and banks, the panel paid particular attention to new theatrical works which dealt with the subject of corporate and economic corruption. Lucy Prebbles’ ‘Enron’ was a major point of discussion. Other topics focused on why theatre remains popular, what it should aim to achieve to be classed as successful, which of the two (theatre or banks) had brought society more honour throughout the course of history, and how the current economic crisis would impact the way that each does business going forward.


Thankfully, none of the panellists were biased in their responses and all were, as expected, articulate and well informed. In considering the talk prior to attending, I had feared that the ‘debate’ would in fact be a funding rally in response to the recent governmental cutbacks to the arts. While I obviously disagree with the arts-focused budget cuts, I was interested in hearing a balanced argument for both sides and was pleasantly surprised to find just that. The responses were well rounded and provided interesting insight into how we measure ‘success’ and ‘value’ in modern Britain.


As Shaun Hutchinson said, we go to the theatre to be inspired, entertained, to learn, and to seek answers about ourselves. Nina Caplan added that since the beginning of the financial crisis, the theatre has attempted to provide answers to the questions of what went wrong and why, while the banks have remained largely silent and insular. Likewise, Ben Holland pointed out that the visual medium of the theatre has provided an entertaining way for the general public to gain some understanding of a particularly complicated issue which is considered to be dull and dry. In this way, people have flocked to productions like ’Enron’ for answers, even when they are not specifically related to the topic of the global recession.


However, we have also constructed a society which is wholly reliant upon finance. Major financial institutions regularly back commercial theatrical productions, primarily on the West End, and because of this the relationship between the banks and theatres is incestuous. Still, one of the main differences between the two is their attitude towards profit. While banks are concerned only with their bottom lines, much of the theatre is actually loss-making. As funding cuts continue and with banks less likely to lend financial support to riskier artistic endeavours, the area of the theatre predicted by the panel to suffer the most was the Fringe. The conclusion of an interesting evening was that both financial institutions and artistic outlets are necessary in society. While I agree with that assertion, I know which of the two I prefer.


Panellists: Nina Caplan, Ben Holland, Shaun Hutchinson
Chair: Aleks Sierz
The London Theatre Talks 2010 were held August 24th and 25th at the Phoenix Artists Club in Soho. Review written by Megan Hunter for Fringe Report: http://www.fringereport.wordpress.com/. (c) Megan Hunter 2010

Creekside Artists at the Fringe

Creekside Artists at the Fringe
Seven Dials Club – 2 Aug to 18 Sept – 26 Aug – 11:00 – 21:00

The exhibition consists of 45 pieces by 14 separate artists. The works displayed are in three interconnecting rooms, on the walls surrounding the Seven Dials Club in Soho. Mediums range from oil on canvas, digital illustration and prints, charcoal and ink on paper, and spray paint on canvas among others. Throughout the dates of the exhibition, the Creekside Artists have teamed up with local musicians and poets, and have even featured a life-drawing event during the showings in order to create a multi-faceted artistic experience.

Necole Schmitz’s ‘Madonna of the Sorrows’ is 54 x 74 cm oil on paper. It is an inventive re-imagining of Renaissance paintings portraying the Virgin and infant Christ. In Necole Scmitz’s piece, a haggard and broken woman with sorrowful eyes clutches an expressionless child to her breast. In contrast to the perpetually glowing images of youth and beauty usually seen in this context, ‘Madonna of the Sorrows’ invokes feelings of pain and uncertainty.

Emma Louise Fenton’s ‘Not Again’ and ‘The Morale of the Story’ show brief insights to lives of modern, city-dwelling children. Both pieces have been created using digital illustration and are 156 x 110 cm. In ‘Not Again’, a small boy sits in his bedroom, surrounded by numerous forgotten gadgets, engrossed in a book while his mother scolds him from the doorway. In ‘The Morale of the Story’, the same boy stands amidst the technological clutter, his arms and legs sprouting branches as he morphs into a tree. By the window, an abandoned telescope focuses on the world outside, a bleak and grey urban landscape. They imply an increasing isolation from nature as we simultaneously yearn for it.

Paul Coombs’ ‘Why the Long Mask?’ is 30 x 24cm acrylic on canvas. It shows the dark visage of an unknown man covered in a white mask. The piece is both fascinating and very disturbing. It has the feel of a cold and degenerate sexuality together with mysteriousness, and is deeply unnerving.

Brenda Brown’s ‘Jazz’ is a colour burst of vitality against a dark backdrop. At 40 x 44 inches and in oil on canvas, red and vibrant yellow pop as the texture creates an interesting focal point. There is the impression of motion and sound together with a subtle hint of the curvature of a saxophone.

Victoria Trinder’s ‘By a Hairs Breadth’ and ‘JP’ are round, 120cm diameter creations in oil on board. They are gorgeous, fantasy like glimpses into a brightly vivid dream. Exotic flowers blend with a myriad of colours to create a stunning and wistful experience.
All of the art featured is the work of members of the Creekside Artists, a not-for-profit co-operative based in Deptford, which provides affordable studio space and a unique, creative community for artists working in all disciplines. The Creekside Artists hold Open Studio events three times each year, in June, September, and December.

Artists: Brenda Brown, Paul Coombs, Emma Louise Fenton, Alex Glen, Rachel Hale, Siobhan Keane, Henrietta Loades-Carter, Daryl Mohammed, Sofie Pinkett, Dave Ravenswood, Mat Rochford, Necole Schmitz, Victoria Trinder, Caz Underwood.

Showing at the Seven Dials Club 1 August through 18 September 2010. Written by Megan Hunter for Fringe Report: http://www.fringereport.wordpress.com/. (C) Megan Hunter 2010

Review of 'He's Not Black'

'He's Not Black'
Written and Directed by: Chima Nsoedo
London Festival Fringe
The White Bear Theatre Club, Kennington
23/08/2010 & 29/08/2010


London Festival Fringe – The White Bear Theatre Club – 23 & 29 Aug – 19:30 (1:45)


It’s New Years Eve 2008, Barack Obama is about to be sworn in as the first black president of the United States, and four friends are out celebrating the holiday in style at a local night club. For Jeremy (James Hamilton), a notorious drug dealer, it’s a chance for one more night of freedom. In forty-eight hours, he will stand trial for possession of drugs with intent to sell, after having been handed in to the police by his best friend Leon (Wayne Joseph). It’s also Jeremy’s opportunity to keep an eye on Leon’s movements. Leon owes Jeremy a favour for his role in a previous crime, and Jeremy has convinced him to lie under oath on his behalf. For Jennifer (Catherine Ashton) and Olivia (Teraiś Latore), wealth management advisors from the City, it’s a chance to drown their sorrows on the brink of financial and professional disaster. As the evening wears on and the drugs and alcohol flow freely, the group discuss the effect that their race, gender, and class have had on their lives. If a black man can become President of the United States, reasons Leon, then anything is possible. ‘He’s not even black’, muse the others in turn, sparking a debate on what it is that defines race in modern Britain.


Set and costume design are appropriate for the piece. Olivia’s red mini dress, gold shoes and belt, together with Jennifer’s black jumpsuit and accessories lend to the party atmosphere, as does the addition of the roped-off VIP area. However, sound design detracts from the action.
Although ‘He’s Not Black’ is set in a night club, it is not necessary for dance music to be played continuously as a reinforcement of this setting. Instead, it makes it difficult to concentrate on the script. Likewise, the sound is used too often to stress the mood, when the acting and script should be sufficient. Employing the use of fade in and out would have been better.


The cast of ‘He’s Not Black’ work well together as a company and are fully committed to their roles. Wayne Joseph, in particular, turns in an emotional performance which captures well his character’s inner turmoil. But the script and direction by Chima Nsoedo need more work. At an hour and forty-five minutes in length without an interval, the play is too long with repetitive themes, and it fails to hold attention until the end. Although a great deal is being said about race, the majority of it is clichéd without new insight. There’s a mixed race woman struggling with her identity, a black woman trying to find her place in a predominantly white industry, a black man dealing drugs because he can’t find a better way to get himself out of poverty, and a young black man trying to better his situation at any cost. These are familiar character types, and despite numerous plot twists and turns, their actions are highly predictable. The characters presented are also not written as sympathetic, and because of this it’s difficult to maintain interest in their predicaments.


Additionally, some of the humour borders on offensive and ‘He’s Not Black’ is therefore not recommended for the faint of heart. Jeremy states, at one point, that when he ‘fu*ks white women, he gives it to them hard to get back at them for slavery’. Lines like this are uncomfortable, but if they are necessary within the greater framework and message of the play, they can be justified. As written, they seem to serve no purpose other than shock value.


Cast Credits: Catherine Ashton – Jennifer. James Hamilton – Jeremy. Wayne Joseph – Leon. Teraiś Latore – Olivia.


Company Credits: Writer/ Director/ Producer – Chima Nsoedo. Production Designer – Laurence Webb. Lighting/ Stage Management – Ross Pomfret. Sound Engineer – Daniel Vieco. Producer – James Hamilton. Producer/ Assistant Director – Fiona Bines. Assistant Director – Diana Mumbi.


Playing August 23rd and 29th at the White Bear Theatre Club in Kennington. Review written by Megan Hunter for Fringe Report: http://www.fringereport.wordpress.com/. Reviewed on August 23rd, 2010. (c) Megan Hunter 2010.

In Praise of New York

Honoré de Balzac, the 19th century French novelist and playwright, once wrote that art was ‘nature concentrated.’ Van Gogh promised that a love of nature was the only ‘true way to understand art.’ And Rembrandt famously recommended that nature should be our only master.

I spent seven wonderful years living in New York, the foremost altar to humankind’s ability to create. The city’s sharp lines and hard edges speak to something in stark contrast to Rembrandt’s ‘master’; it is the ultimate example of the civilized industrial spirit. My time there was also some of my most defining, at once inspiring and overwhelming, and each moment spent surrounded by concrete was a reminder of how incredibly lucky I was to be living in the place of my childhood fantasies. It is also impossible to escape the infectious buzz of Manhattan once you have been immersed in it. Even now, after a year spent away, I can sometimes feel its energy coursing through me, and there are nights when I wake up with a gasp after a particularly vivid dream and sit awake in the cool darkness of our bedroom, longing for home.


In the final days before my departure, I ran frantically through the streets taking hurried pictures of my city. After my time at work had wrapped up and there was nothing remaining in our apartment except for a few bulging suitcases, the only thing left for me to do was say my goodbyes. With my camera in one hand and a scribbled piece of notebook paper in the other, I retraced my steps: from my first tentative days spent in student accommodation (a grand old hotel in the heart of midtown), to the site of my wedding (a grand old penthouse in the heart of Wall Street), I rushed to capture each memory feeling that if I did not preserve it for myself, it may disappear. By making a project out of something that should have been cathartic, I was distancing myself from the overwhelming sense of loss that was settling in. And looking back at these photographs now, I realise that they capture my mood upon leaving, but little else. New York looks cold, angular, and grey. These are architectural shots, a documentary of my movements through time, but they feel impersonal and distant. In my memory, it was nothing like this; there it was, and always will be, in Technicolor.

As I begin to settle into my new life in London, a fascination has gripped me and for the first time in my adult life I am able to fully appreciate de Balzac’s sentiment. There is individuality to Greenwich Village, but the rush of the city pales in comparison to the perfect solitude of a well manicured garden. London, to its credit, is an undeniably green city, placing an extraordinary amount of importance on the seamless blend of urban and nature. Within walking distance of our central London flat are no fewer than 3 parks, 2 public gardens, and a forest. Streets here are leafy in a way that makes ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ seem like a delightful afterthought.
Rembrandt and Van Gogh were obviously masters of the canvas. And with one look at their subject matter, it’s easy to see why they were so fascinated by it. These glimpses of nature are, perhaps, more subtle and fragile in their power than a towering art-deco facade but their appeal is also, arguably, more timeless and universal.

If the time ever comes when I leave London, I hope that it will be just as bitter sweet for me as it was leaving New York. This is our home now, at least for the moment, and while it may not yet have the memories, it certainly has the Technicolor.

Text and photographs by Megan Hunter for Fringe Report: http://www.fringereport.wordpress.com/. (c) Megan Hunter 2010