Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Art

Moniker Art Fair, Village Underground, EC2A 3PQ, 11-14 October

Now in its third year, Moniker Art Fair has become a highlight of London's autumnal art week. This year, it has attracted some of the contemporary scene’s most accomplished and renowned artists, including legendary Pop Surrealist Luke Chueh, fresh works from Pam Glew, and the work of Surrealist up-and-comer Nancy Fout

Music

Ether Festival: John Cale. Royal Festival Hall, Sat October 13

A founding member of one of the most defining bands of a generation, the Velvet Underground, John Cale’s return to the Royal Festival Hall coincides with the release of his cryptically titled Shifty Adventures in Nookie Wood, which is out this week.  His experimentalist verve and willingness to explore new artistic frontiers ensures that he remains an unstoppable force on the contemporary scene.

Literature

Durham Book Festival, 13-30 October

Durham Book Festival returns for another edition this month. It is jointly produced by New Writing North with Durham Country Council and Durham University. From prose to poetry, the festival programme includes events spanning a wide spectrum of topics at various locations in County Durham and at iconic venues in the city itself. The festival boasts a host of newly commissioned work from the likes of Michael Smith and Carol Ann Duffy.

Festival

Inside Out Festival, London (various venues), 22-28 October

In association with The Times Higher Education and the New Statesman, the Culture Capital Exchange delivers the third instalment of the Inside Out Festival. The programme includes 50 eclectic events taking place across the capital over the course of the week, ranging from talks, panel debates, performances and exhibitions. The festival offers the chance to experience in person some of the city’s most celebrated thinkers, including Will Self, Michael Morpurgo and Bidisha. Most events free, but require booking.

Theatre

All That Fall, Jermyn Street Theatre, until 3 November

Originally commissioned by the BBC as a radio play in 1957, Samuel Beckett’s All that Falls charts the journey of Maddy Rooney, a 70-something unwieldy woman as she trudges across country back roads to meet her blind husband. All that Falls is a bawdy comedy with a life affirming charm, full of superb one-liners, even if they are somewhat spiked by intimations of mortality. Although not originally conceived for stage, All that Falls offers a rare opportunity to experience a superlative cast – including Michael Gambon and the excellent Eileen Atkins – in an intimate, 70-seater setting. 

Michael Gambon and Eileen Atkins in Samuel Beckett's All That Fall. Photo: Alastair Muir
HELEN SLOAN / THE FALL 3 LTD
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The Fall is back - and once again making me weary

Five more episodes to go, after which its “feminist” writer (his word, not mine), Allan Cubitt, should pull the plug on it at last. Plus: Damned.

It is with much weariness that I return to The Fall (Thursdays, 9pm), the creepy drama that still doesn’t know whether it wants to be a horror-fest or a love story. I’ve written in the past about what I regard as its basic misogyny – to sum up, it seems to me to make a fetish of the violence committed against women, a preoccupation it pathetically tries to disguise by dint of its main character being a female detective – and I don’t propose to return to that theme now. However, in its early days, it was at least moderately gripping. Now, though, it appears to be recovering from some kind of nervous breakdown. If in series two the plot was wobbling all over the place, series three has misplaced the idea of drama altogether. Nothing is happening. At all.

To recap: at the end of the last series, Paul Spector, aka the Belfast Strangler (Jamie Dornan), had been shot while in police custody, somewhat improbably by a man who blames him for the demise of his marriage (oh, that Spector were only responsible for breaking up a few relationships). On the plus side for his supposed nemesis, DSI Stella Gibson (Gillian Anderson), before he fell he led them to Rose Stagg, the ex-girlfriend he’d locked in the boot of a car some days previously, and she is going to live. On the minus side, Spector’s injuries are so bad, it’s touch and go whether he’ll survive, and so Gibson may never see him brought to justice. Of course, the word “justice” is something of a red herring here.

The real reason she wants Spector to live is more dubious. As she stared at his body in the ICU, all tubes and monitors, her expression was so obviously sexual – her mouth opened, and stayed that way, as her eyes ran over every part of his body – that I half expected her to reach out and stroke him. Just in time for this nocturnal visit, she’d slipped into another of her slinky silk blouses that look like poured cream. (Moments earlier – think Jackie Kennedy in 1963 – she’d still been covered in her love object’s blood.)

The entire episode took place at the hospital, police procedural having morphed suddenly into Bodies or Cardiac Arrest. Except, this was so much more boring and cliché-bound than those excellent series – and so badly in need of their verisimilitude. When I watch The Fall, I’m all questions. Why doesn’t Stella ever tie her hair back? And why does she always wear high heels, even when trying to apprehend criminals? For how much longer will the presumably cash-strapped Police Service of Northern Ireland allow her to live in a posh hotel? Above all, I find myself thinking: why has this series been so acclaimed? First it was nasty, and then it was only bad. Five more episodes to go, after which its “feminist” writer (his word, not mine), Allan Cubitt, should join Gibson in the ICU, where together they can ceremonially pull the plug on it at last.

Can Jo Brand do for social workers in her new comedy, Damned, what she did a few years ago for geriatric nurses in the brilliant Getting On? I expect she probably can, even though this Channel 4 series (Tuesdays, 10pm), co-written with Morwenna Banks and Will Smith, does have an awfully inky heart. Hungry children, drug-addict parents, a man who can go nowhere without his oxygen tank: all three were present and correct when Rose (Brand) went to visit a client who turned out to be a woman who, long ago, had nicked her (Rose’s) boyfriend. Ha ha? Boohoo, more like.

Damned is basically The Office with added family dysfunction. Al (Alan Davies) is a hen-pecked wimp, Nitin (Himesh Patel) is a snitch, and Nat (Isy Suttie) is the stupidest and most annoying temp in the Western world. This lot have two bosses: Martin (Kevin Eldon), a kindly widower, and Denise (Georgie Glen), the cost-cutting line manager from hell. And Rose has a plonker of an ex-husband, Lee (Nick Hancock). “I’ve been invited to the Cotswolds for the weekend,” he told her, trying to wriggle out of looking after the children. “Is that why you look like a knob?” she replied.

Jerky camerawork, naturalistic acting, a certain daring when it comes to jokes about, say, race: these things are pretty familiar by now, but I like it all the same.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, May’s new Tories