The Friday arts diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Music

Gateshead International Jazz Festival, The Sage, Gateshead, 5-7 April

According to its organisers, Gateshead International Jazz Festival is the largest UK festival held under one roof. Headline acts include the National Youth Jazz Orchestra, Lighthouse, Ruby Turner and the Brand New Heavies. But its nuanced programme of smaller performances is equally interesting: Broadcaster/musician Alyn Shipton, will be exploring the relationship between jazz and poetry, notably the work of Philip Larkin and W B Yeats, in a piece entitled Jazz Words. Meanwhile, seminal French guitarist Bireli Lagrene will be making a rare appearance to the festival, with a jazz quartet reminiscent of the Blue Note acts of the 1960s.

Dance

Labyrinth of Love tour. Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, 9-19 April

The Rambert dance company returns to Edinburgh with the critically-acclaimed Labyrinth of Love. Grammy award-wining composer Michael Daugherty’s score is performed live by both the Rambert Orchestra and soprano Sarah Gabriel, in what is both a musically and visually stunning piece. Choreographed by Marguerite Donlon, Labyrinth of Love provides a fitting centre-piece for a production which also features Merce Cunningham’s seminal work Sounddance, Richard Alston’s solo Dutiful Ducks and Paul Taylor’s Roses.

Art

Rosemarie Trockel: A Cosmos. Serpentine Gallery, London W2, until 7 April

An exhibition that sets about creating a space in which ideas from different disciplines can cross-pollinate, A Cosmos sees German artist Trockel situate her work among other artefacts and objects. Each one was selected by Trockel, in dialogue with curator Lynne Cooke, to produce a context for the artist’s work, including science and natural history. Trockel has resisted an identifiable style throughout her 30-year career, which has seen her exhibit in Paris, London and New York. It closes this Sunday, so catch this marvellously eclectic exhibition while you still can.

Theatre

A day in the death of Joe Egg, Everyman Theatre, Liverpool, 5-27 April

This weekend sees the revival of the critically-acclaimed play A day in the death of Joe Egg by Peter Nichols. The play was first performed in 1967. This production stars Ralph Little, Rebecca Johnson and Marjorie Yates. A fast-paced black comedy centred on the struggle of a young couple raising a disabled child, Nichols’s script was described by the Stage’s Gareth K Vile as “brutal, funny and provocative. The actors are challenged to jump across genres, picturing a reality bounded by a child’s absolute dependence, but made into a hell by their own personal failures.” It’s one to watch.

Spoken Word

Scratch the word, The Ovalhouse, London SE11, 11 April

Scratch the word is an exciting "scratch" event, exploring the creative overlap between spoken word, live literature and video verse. A group of performance poets will each perform a 10-minute sample of their work, followed be a Q&A panel discussion hosted by organisers Spread the Word. It will also include performances from the likes of Nick Makoha, whose one-man show My Father and Other Superheroes is due to feature at the Southbank Centre’s London Literature Festival.

A tenor saxophone. Photograph: Mario Tama/Getty Images
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How Roger Moore made James Bond immortal

Roger Moore, James Bond actor, has died at the age of 89. 

Unlike every other actor to play James Bond, Roger Moore was already a star when he came to the role. Not a star of motion pictures admittedly, although he had topped the bill in some minor films, but a star in television. The lead of the adventure series Ivanhoe (1958-59) and The Saint (1962-69), the latter of which brought him international fame and reportedly made him the highest paid actor on television.

It was a far cry from his beginnings. Although he lived much of his life abroad (it has been said, for tax reasons, something the actor himself denied) and was regarded by many as the archetypal English gentleman, Moore began life as a working-class Londoner.  Born in Stockwell in 1927, the son of a policeman and his wife, he grew up in a rented three room, third floor flat in SW8, and attended Battersea Grammar School. There, he later insisted "looking as though I was listening", was the only subject at which he excelled. Battersea Grammar was, despite the name, then an overcrowded local school boxed in by the buildings and sidings of Clapham Junction Station and made dark and noisy by the still expanding railways.

As both Moore and his friend and fellow film star Michael Caine have observed, their backgrounds in urban South London are almost identical, something that has never fitted with public perception of either of them. The difference was, as again both noted, that when it came to National Service Moore, unlike Caine, was picked out as officer material and trained accordingly, in the process acquiring the accent he would carry for the rest of his life.

The common, near universal, ignorance of Moore’s origins (although he himself was never shy of them, writing about his family in his various books and discussing them in interviews) says something significant about Roger Moore the public figure. Despite being a household name for decades, an international film star and latterly a knight of the realm, he was, if not misunderstood by his audience, then never really quite what they assumed him to be.

This extends, of course, into his work as an actor. Moore was often mocked by the unimaginative, who saw him as a wooden actor, or one lacking in versatility. Often, he was somehow self-deprecating enough to play along. And yet, the camera loved him, really loved him and his timing - particularly but not exclusively comic - was extraordinary. To see Moore work in close up is to see someone in absolute control of his craft. His raised eyebrow, often mocked, was a precision instrument, exactly as funny or exactly as surprising as he wanted it to be.

It is more accurate, as well as fairer, to say that Moore was typecast, rather than limited, and he made no secret of the fact that he played his two most famous roles, Simon Templar in The Saint and James Bond 007 as essentially the same person. But he would have been a fool not to. Bond producers Harry Saltzman and Albert R "Cubby" Broccoli’s EON productions wanted Templar nearly as much as they wanted Moore.

They had thought of the actor for the part of 007 as early as 1961, before casting Sean Connery and before Moore had played The Saint, so it was not just his success as Templar that made him suitable. Yet both producers knew that audiences in both Britain and America loved the way Moore played Templar, and that if that affection could be translated into ticket sales, their series would be on to a winner.

It was a gamble for all involved. George Lazenby had already tried, and as far many were concerned, failed to replace Connery as James Bond. When it came to 1971’s outing in the series, Diamonds Are Forever, David Picker, head of United Artists, which distributed Bond films, insisted that Connery be brought back for an encore before EON tried a third actor in the role, re-hiring Connery at a then record $1.25m and paying off actor John Gavin, whom EON had already cast. That’s how high the stakes were for both the Bond series and Moore’s reputation when he stepped into the role for 1973’s Live and Let Die. The film was a huge success, so much so that EON rushed out its sequel, The Man With The Golden Gun the next year, rather than after two years as it had planned.

The reason for that success, although the film has many other good qualities, is that Moore is brilliant in it. His whip-thin, gently ironic and oddly egalitarian adventurer, capable of laughing at himself as well as others, is a far cry from Connery’s violently snobbish "joke superman". It’s been said that Connery’s Bond was a working-class boy’s fantasy of what it would be like to be an English gentleman, while Moore’s was essentially the fantasy of a slightly effete middle-class boy who dreams of one day winning a fight. It’s a comprehensive reinvention of the part.

That’s not something that can be achieved by accident. One shouldn’t, however, over-accentuate the lightness of the performance. Moore’s Bond is exactly as capable of rage and even sadism as his predecessor. The whimsy he brings to the part is an addition to, not a subtraction from, the character’s range.

Moore expanded Bond’s emotional palette in other ways too. His best onscreen performance is in For Your Eyes Only (1981), in which the then 53-year-old Moore gets to play a Bond seen grieving at his wife’s grave, lecturing allies on the futility of revenge ("When setting out for revenge, first dig two graves") and brightly turn down a much younger woman’s offer of sex with the phrase "Put your clothes on and I’ll buy you an ice cream". None of which are scenes you can begin to imagine Connery’s Bond pulling off.

Moore was not just a huge success as Bond, he remains, adjusted for inflation, the most financially successful lead actor the series has ever had. He was also successful in a way that guaranteed he would have successors. What he gave to the part by not imitating Connery, by not even hinting at Connery in his performance, was a licence to those who followed him to find their own way in the role. This, along with his continued popularity over twelve years in the role, probably the only reason the series managed to survive the 1970s and the EON’s finally running of Ian Fleming novels to adapt to the screen.

Actors have received knighthoods for their craft for centuries, but when Moore was knighted in 2003, there was some push back. Moore was understandably seen as not being in the same category as an Alec Guinness or a Ralph Richardson. But the citations for Moore's knighthood indicated that it was for his decades of charity work with Unicef that he was being honoured. It’s yet another of the misconceptions, large and small, that aggregated around him.

Moore himself was always clear that it was the profile playing James Bond had given him that made his role with Unicef possible, let alone successful. When asked about pride in his charity work, he always responded that instead he felt frustration. Frustration because as with, for example, the UN’s iodine deficiency programme or Unicef’s work with children with landmine injuries, there was always so much more work to be done than could be done.

It was an answer that, along with his energetic campaigning, at the age of 88, to ban the use of wild animals in zoos, pointed to the biggest misunderstanding of all. Moore was known for playing frivolous characters in over the top entertainments and this led to him being perceived by many, even by those he enjoyed his work, as essentially trivial. Ironically, such an assumption reveals only the superficiality of their own reading. The jovial, wry interviewee Sir Roger Moore was, beneath that raised eyebrow, a profoundly serious man.

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