Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Art

Bela Kolarova exhibition, 31 Jan – 7 April, Raven Row, London

A retrospective of the work of Czech artists Bela Kolarova (1923-2010). This is the first major survey of her work outside of her home country. Kolarova’s “light drawings” and “derealised portraits” pioneered an art based on objects associated with domesticity and the feminine, rooted in the context of Cold War and exile. The works on display will cover Kolarova’s career, including documentary photographs from the late fifties, camera-less experiments, “arranged” photographs of objects and assemblages from the sixties, as well as make-up drawings and assemblages from the seventies and eighties.

Opera

La Traviata, 2 Feb – 3 March 2013, London Coliseum

Verdi’s masterpiece will be staged at the Coliseum. One of the Verdi’s most moving and popular operas, La Traviata tells the story of a courtesan sacrificing her hopes for her lover’s reputation.

In a new production, acclaimed director Peter Konwitschny uses modern uncluttered staging to present the tragic and moving opera. Compelling characters and famed melodies make this an engaging and emotional performance. Starring American soprano Corinne Winters in her European debut, British lyric tenor Ben Johnson and internationally acclaimed baritone Anthony Michaels-Moore.

Classical Music

One Night in Vienna, 27 January, Royal Festival Hall, London

Johann Strauss Dancers present a combination of Viennese music, song and dance in glorious period costumes. Conductor Rainer Hersch guides performers through Radetzky March, The Blue Danube Waltz, The Laughing Song from Die Fledermaus, Thunder and Lightning Polka, and Voices Of Spring, as well as Tchaikovsky, Lehar and many more. The Johann Strauss Orchestra performs with guest soprano Charlotte Ellett.

Festival

Burns Night Celebrations, 25 January, Edinburgh

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!” Wrote the eminent Scot Rabbie Burns in “Address to a Haggis.” If you are in Edinburgh this weekend there myriad opportunities to raise a glass to the poet. According to robertburns.org “Burns Suppers range from stentoriously formal gatherings of esthetes and scholars to uproariously informal rave-ups of drunkards and louts,” so take your pick. The Whiski bar and restaurant in Edinburgh will be hosting an evening of traditional Scottish fiddle music, accompanied by haggis neeps and tatties.

Theatre

Count Magnus: Two Ghost Stories by M R James 05-09 Febuary, The Brewery, Bristol

As if South-West England wasn’t chilling enough, the Nunkie Theatre Company will be bringing ghost stories to Bristol in February. Two short stories by antiquarian ghost story master, Monague Rhodes James will be performed at the Brewery Theatre.

150 years since the birth of M R James, Robert Lloyd Parry will be retelling his stories as a one man show. The first of these tales, Count Magnus, is a thriller set in Sweden about the consequences of travel-writer’s over-inquisitiveness. Denmark is then the setting for Number 13, a tale of a haunted hotel room.

Celebrate the poetry of Robert Burns this Saturday (Getty Images)
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Poo jokes and pessimism – the scatological legacy of British humour

Is it simply a testament to our good nature, or a sign of a darker kind of cynicism?

Many Brits will have amused themselves this summer by packing a tent, stashing their narcotics and heading over to a muddy field in the middle of nowhere to brave the torrential rain at a music festival.

Wallowing in the mud and other more faecal byproducts to the soundtrack of up-and-coming bands is considered the peak of hedonism for many in the UK, and there is something quintessentially British about the way we willfully embrace the general state of depravity that most of our festivals inevitably collapse into.

One internet meme that perfectly epitomises the difference between British and American festival culture shows an image of a woman at a US event pulling a sad face as she reveals the worst thing she’s seen: “Spitting on the ground.” On her right, a British man slumped in a camping chair holds up his sign, reading: “A man covered in his own shit sniffing ketamine off his mate’s unwashed scrotum.”

There’s a cheerful pride with which Brits embrace bodily dysfunction as a part of our comic culture, and a common trope of British humour involves undermining the stiff upper lip attitude associated with English people, often with an act of complete depravity that dispels any illusion of class and respectability. Britons have always been partial to a good old-fashioned dose of scatological humour, from Chaucer’s bawdy fabliaux that celebrate obscenity, to Shakespeare’s Falstaff, or Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, or Swift’s "Scatological Cycle".

Much of the comic effect that these writers create derives from undermining high-brow intellect or spirituality with the low-brow of the rear end – for example the part in Chaucer’s Summoner’s Tale, where the division of an old man’s fart into 12 serves as a parody of the descent of the holy ghost at Pentecost.

Faeces has long since been ingrained in our past literary and historical culture – after all, as the great Shakespeare was writing some of the western world’s most seminal pieces of English literature, his chamber-maid was most likely throwing pieces of his own faeces out of the window next to him.

In English literature, scatological humour can be juvenile, but it has also been used to represent wider social anxieties. In turning bottoms up and exposing the rear end, "shiterature" is often about breaking taboos, and exposing the dirty underbelly of society. Part of the "civilising" process that societies perform to reach a high level of sophistication involves distancing oneself from one’s own excrement, and scatology reverses this by shedding a light on our dirtiest natural habits. Swift’s excremental vision asked us to peel back the mask of genteel individuals, revealing their true and disgusting selves.

Scatology can also represent collective self-disgust, and has been used to question the integrity of a British national identity that has in the past denied its colonial wrongdoings. In Tristram Shandy, the protagonist's porous and leaking diseased body has been interpreted as a metaphor for the British Empire, and indeed the whole being of the Shandean gentleman is sub-textually supported by British colonialism, being as they are descended from merchants who profited from eastern goods sold to the European bourgeois and aristocrats.

Scatology has been used to represent hypochondria, the crisis of the aristocracy, self-disgust and sexual disgust – incidentally all things that we might find at an English festival.

The onslaught of the modern era hasn’t managed to dispel our fondness for injecting sophisticated comedy with snippets of scatological humour. In Peep Show for example, a show largely appreciated for its dry wit and irony, a hilarious scene involves Mark suffering from uncontrollable diarrhea as his boss watches on in disgust. Another brilliant scene is where Jeremy’s employer at the gym confronts him with a plastic bag filled with a human stool, which Jez had used to frame another employee for pooing in the pool.

In a similar vein, one of the most famous scenes in The Inbetweeners is where the uptight Will manages to poo himself during one of his A-level exams. In the second movie, there is another disgusting poo in the pool scene.

In the dark comedy series The Mighty Boosh, characters reference "taking a shit" on objects ranging from a salad, to a swan, to even "your mum". Almost all of these characters (Mark from Peep Show, Will from The Inbetweeners and The Mighty Boosh's Howard Moon) see themselves in some way as representative of a modern British gentleman – prudish, well educated and well spoken. Each of them at points embarrasses themselves and their image with reference to their bowel movements.

It’s a cliché that British humour is about losers, and that we are more prone to self-deprecation than our friends across the pond – a cliché that is not without some truth. 

Admittedly nowadays, much American humour similarly relies on self-deprecation and laughing at the sorry fate of "losers", but cynicism and irony are more fundamental to British comedy. On commenting on the difference between the American and British versions of The Office, Ricky Gervais once said that in the UK: "Failure and disappointment lurk around every corner… We use (irony) as liberally as prepositions in every day speech. We tease our friends. We use sarcasm as a shield and weapon." 

It is certainly true that in Britain, we are particularly pre-occupied with laughing at the failures of the self, and this can manifest itself potently through deprecation of the body.

Maybe the general sense of pessimism that is alluded to so much in the UK is due to our dismal weather, and maybe our ability to laugh at ourselves and our dysfunctions is a simply a testament to our good nature, and something to be applauded. Perhaps it is just something in the air rising from our manure-ploughed green and pleasant lands that inspires in our British comedians the desire to return time and time again to the scatological trope. Or perhaps, if we dig a bit deeper into our dung-fertilised lands, we might find that an anxiety about the foundations of British identity is behind the relentless desire to represent the permeability of the personal and national body.

Should we be embracing our tendency towards self-deprecation, or does it lead to a more problematic kind of cynicism that is restrictive, making us resistant to the idea of radical change? Perhaps we are destined to remain stuck in the mud forever, grumbling about the bad weather as we desperately shelter from the rain under a gazebo, sipping on the dregs of warm beer, pretending we’re having a good time – and who knows? Maybe this is what a good time looks like. Swift once told us to bless the "gaudy tulips raised from dung" – British comedy continues to do so quite literally.