Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Film

Returning to Oz. BFI, Southbank, London SE1, 1-14 March 

In anticipation of Sam Raimi’s soon-to-be-released Oz: The Great and Powerful, the BFI will be screening Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic film The wizard of Oz as well as two early film adaptations: The Patchwork Girl of Oz (1914) with live piano on 1 and 3 March, and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1910) which is the earliest surviving film of the Oz story.

Dance

Mise en Scene.  Barbican Centre, London EC2, until 9 June

Leading contemporary artist Philippe Parreno has devised this performance in conjunction with the Barbican’s featured exhibition- The Bride and Bachelors: Duchamp with Cage, Cunningham, Rauschenberg, and Johns. Inspired by the choreography of Cunningham and the music of John Cage, two Yamaha Disklavier pianos will be playing his scores during the dancers’ performances. Due to Cage’s fervent interest in soundscapes, Parreno has devised his own interpretation of Cage’s 4’33”

Live dance "Events"  will be performed on Thursday evenings and weekends throughout the duration of the exhibition by dancers from Richard Alston Dance Company and by students and graduates from London Contemporary Dance School
 

Theatre

The Captain of Kopenick. National Theatre, London SE1, until 4 April

“I used to think all the trouble in the world was caused by people giving orders. Now I reckon that it’s people being so willing to take them.”

Petty criminal Wilhelm Voigt has just been released from prison. He wanders 1910 Berlin in pursuit of his identity papers. When he picks up an abandoned military uniform in a fancy-dress shop, he finds the city ready to obey his every command. At the head of six soldiers, he heads to the Mayor’s office and confiscates the treasury with ease on the grounds of speculated corruption. However, what he seeks is official recognition of his existence. Ron Hutchinson’s humourous take on Carl Zuckmayer’s The Captain of Köpenick, first staged in Germany in 1931, sees Antony Sher starring in the title role.

 

Art

Art13 London. Olympia Grand Hall, London W14, 1–3 March

Art13 London is the capital’s brand new art fair for modern and contemporary art. The first edition will showcase 129 leading galleries from 30  countries and will exhibit thousands of artworks, including painting, sculpture, photography, prints and editions or multimedia, with prices ranging from £100- £500, 000. Sculptures by emerging and established sculptors will be on display outside the fair and a series of free tours, performances, talks and high-profile panel discussions will take place. In addition, 21 large scale sculptures by contemporary sculptors will be exhibited as "Art 13 Projects".

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In the name of the father: Patricia Lockwood on sex, centaurs and Catholicism

The author of the viral poem “Rape Joke” talks about growing up with her gun-toting Catholic “priestdaddy”.

“Oh my fricking God. It’s a centaur.” The American poet Patricia Lockwood and I are in the lobby of a Whitehall hotel and she is finding the quantity of equine art distracting. I have already been skipped along a corridor to examine the bizarrely detailed rendering of a horse’s anus in a Napoleonic painting (“They made a point of doing him straight up the butt”) that turns out to be a copy of Théodore Géricault’s Charging Chasseur. Now a statue on the mantelpiece has caught her eye, prompting a reverie on what she saw at the British Museum a couple of days ago: “A wonderful statue of a man kneeing a centaur in the balls. It’s the most important thing to me there. It’s so beautiful.”

The confluence of violence, sex, orifices, animals and mythology runs throughout Lockwood’s work in wild and witty poems such as “The Whole World Gets Together and Gangbangs a Deer” (inspired by the realisation that “Bambi is a puberty movie”) and “Revealing Nature Photographs” (pastoral verse meets porn spam) – and it also colours her new book, Priestdaddy, a deeply idiosyncratic family memoir in which copulation is a go-to metaphor. Her dad’s frenzied, tuneless playing raises the prospect that he might be “having sex with the guitar”; during Lockwood’s teenage depression, she writes, the only thing she was having sex with “was the intolerable sadness of the human condition, which sucked so much in bed”.

Lockwood (pictured at her First Holy Communion) has dark, cropped hair and elfin features, pearly white nails and sleeping cats on her knees (an effect achieved with decorated tights – “Let this be for the stocking boys,” she says). Her voice is deadpan, frequently dipping into laughter without losing her poise. She is one day off her 35th birthday and has been married since she was 21. Her father, Greg, is a priest and, along with her four siblings in a succession of rectories across the Midwest, she was raised a Catholic – thus ensuring, she says, the permanent sexual warping of her mind.

“We Catholics become perverts because of the way sex is discussed in strictly negative terms. I saw pictures of aborted foetuses before I knew what basic anatomy was.”

As a devout teenager, she attended a youth group called God’s Gang and was given a virginity pledge in the form of a business card. The group leaders had a “very hip and young” approach: “We’re going to tell you every single thing you can do, in explicit terms, and just be like, ‘But don’t do it.’”

The ribald humour of her writing – Lockwood is renowned on Twitter for her surreal “sexts” – often contains a darkness. The poem that made her name, “Rape Joke”, takes her experience of being raped at 19 by a boyfriend and metes it out in discrete, increasingly devastating soundbites and images. It was posted online in 2013 and went viral, leading to a publishing deal for her collection Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals.

After the rape, Lockwood was “absolutely insane” for about five years, but it’s not as if she was entirely happy before: at 16, she had attempted suicide by taking a hundred Tylenol tablets. Her memoir recounts, too, being embedded in a church mired in scandal, a claustrophobic situation that hit home when a priest close to her was arrested for having sex with a 14-year-old boy. Such events led to Lockwood abandoning her faith and escaping with Jason, her future husband, whom she met on an online poetry messageboard.

When Patricia was 30, she and Jason ran out of money and moved back to the rectory, allowing her to observe her parents afresh. The resulting portraits in Priestdaddy are larger than life: her mother, Karen, is a hyperactive generator of mad puns and proverbs; her ex-navy father is a self-mythologising, right-wing whirlwind of talk radio, guns and Tom Clancy novels. Married Catholic priests are rare but Greg, previously a Lutheran minister, got the pope’s permission to convert. Usually to be found in his underwear, he wants for no new expensive gadget or guitar, though the family is expected to make sacrifices. In 2001, two weeks before Patricia – who learned to read at three and was writing poetry at seven – was supposed to leave for college, he told her that they couldn’t afford it. He later “changed the story in his mind so that I had said I don’t need to go”.

“Growing up in my household,” she says, “all of these far-right, retrograde ideas of gender roles and the man as patriarch existed from the very beginning. But I didn’t think of my house as a bellwether of what was going to happen.” It came as no surprise to her that Greg and many like him voted for Trump. When she reported on a Trump rally in February 2016, she “moved like a ghost through the crowd. They saw me as one of their own.”

Anger at her father’s selfishness “would be useless”, and Lockwood respects his sense of vocation, which she feels she has inherited. She has believed in her own genius ever since she was writing “mermaids-having-sex-with-Jesus poems” at the age of 19. Jason is her support staff, licking her envelopes and buying her clothes. His offering the previous day was a T-shirt emblazoned with Justin Bieber’s face: it revealed how much she resembles the singer – “a full 90 per cent overlap” – and is definitely not ironic.

“Do you think we only got irony after Christ was crucified?” she wonders, and then spots two black-clad priests in dog collars who have sat down across the room from us. “Ooh,” she exclaims, awed and delighted, and then, in a whisper, ever confident in her powers of creation: “I manifested them.”

“Priestdaddy: A Memoir” is published by Allen Lane. “Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals” is published by Penguin

Tom Gatti is Culture Editor of the New Statesman. He previously edited the Saturday Review section of the Times, and can be found on Twitter as @tom_gatti.

 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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