Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Opera

Eugene Onegin, The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, and selected cinemas. 20 February.

Tchaikovsky adapted Pushkin’s great novel in verse into what he described as ‘lyrical scenes’, in which a young girl is rejected by Onegin, and eventually chooses honour over true love. The opera has an intimacy rare in the Russian tradition, and explores themes of maturity and sexual awakening. This production is directed by first-timer Kasper Holten and stars Simon Keenlyside, and is part of The Royal Opera House’s cinema initiative, in which performances are streamed live to a rage of Vue cinemas. Opening is Wednesay 20. The Royal Opera House reminds fans that screenings are updated and added on a daily basis, so they ought to check back regularly to see at which cinema’s this production is showing.

 

Exhibition

Poster Art 150: London Underground's Greatest Designs, London Transport Museums, Covent Garden Piazza. From 15 February 2013 to 1 October 2013

London Underground has developed a reputation, since a graphic poster competition in 1908, for commissioning exciting poster art. This exhibition, in commemoration of the tube’s anniversary, collates 150 of the most remarkable. There are posters by renowned artists and photographer such as Man Ray, alongside work from lesser known artists. This exhibition presents a vibrant pictorial history of the underground and the art works which have animated the world’s oldest subway system.

 

Film

Montgomery Clift Season, BFI Southbank. 19 - 28 February

As Trevor Johnstone of the BFI writes, “when he burst on the scene in the late 1940s, Montgomery Clift brought a new kind of masculinity to the screen. Listening, caring, intelligent, but no wilting flower either – behind everything lay a stony determination”. “Wrongly, he’s often lumped in with those icons of the Method, Brando and Dean, but while their performances were often founded on expressive self-revelation, Monty did his utmost to disappear inside his characters”. This retrospective overviews key films, such as Wild River, directed by Elia Kazan, and The Misfits with Marilyn Monroe.

 

Theatre

Our Country’s Good, St James Theatre, running until 23 March

This acclaimed play is based on the true story of a cast of convicts who put on a play under the enthusiasm of a young marine officer. Both behind the scenes and onstage their positions break down and intermingle, opening up a compendium of self-discovery in Australia. The play achieved many awards in Britain and American during its first run, and this production represents a welcome re-invention of a classic. Max Stafford-Clark, who recently revived Top Girls to 5 star acclaim, returns to Our Country’s Good after directing the play 25 years ago.

 

Comedy

Alan Davies: Life is Pain, Hammersmith Apollo, 18 - 19 February

The star of QI returns to stand-up after a ten year vacation with this jovially cynical set. Davies looks back to the 80s in this at times autobiographical routine, comparing his behavior then with the middle-aged outlook with which he now wrestles. Ripples of seriousness (the death of his motehr whenhe was six) remain ripples, as Davies focuses much more intently on his mild worries about the end of the world.

 

Montgomery Clift in A Place in The Sun (Photo by Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone via Getty Images)
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We knew we’d become proper pop stars when we got a car like George Michael’s

“That was George Michael!” we both shouted. “And he was driving the car we want!”

One of the clichés about celebrity life is that all celebrities know each other. Back in the Eighties, when we were moderately famous, Ben and I did often bump into other famous people, and because of mutual recognition, there was a sort of acquaintance, if not friendship.

There was a random element to it, as well. Some celebrities you might never catch a glimpse of, while others seemed to pop up with an unexpected regularity.

In 1987, the car we drove was a 1970s Austin Princess, all leather seats and walnut dashboard. In many ways, it symbolised what people thought of as the basic qualities of our band: unassuming, a little bit quirky, a little bit vintage. We’d had it for a year or so, but Ben was running out of patience. It had a habit of letting us down at inconvenient moments – for instance, at the top of the long, steep climbs that you encounter when driving through Italy, which we had just recklessly done for a holiday. The car was such a novelty out there that it attracted crowds whenever we parked. They would gather round, nodding appreciatively, stroking the bonnet and murmuring, “Bella macchina . . .”

Having recently banked a couple of royalty cheques, Ben was thinking of a complete change of style – a rock’n’roll, grand-gesture kind of car.

“I wanna get an old Mercedes 300 SL,” he said to me.

“What’s one of those?”

“I’ll let you know next time we pass one,” he said.

We were driving through London in the Princess, and as we swung round into Sloane Square, Ben called out, “There’s one, look, coming up on the inside now!” I looked round at this vision of gleaming steel and chrome, gliding along effortlessly beside us, and at the same moment the driver glanced over towards our funny little car. We made eye contact, then the Merc roared away. It was George Michael.

“That was George Michael!” we both shouted. “And he was driving the car we want!”

We’d always had a soft spot for George, even though we seemed to inhabit opposite ends of the pop spectrum. He’d once been on a TV review show and said nice things about our first album, and I knew he had liked my solo single “Plain Sailing”. We’d done a miners’ benefit gig where Wham! had appeared, slightly out of place in their vests, tans and blond bouffants. There had been a bit of sneering because they’d mimed. But I remember thinking, “Good on you for even being here.” Their presence showed that being politically active, or even just caring, wasn’t the sole preserve of righteous indie groups.

A couple of weeks later, we were driving along again in the Princess, when who should pull up beside us in traffic? George again. He wound down his window, and so did we. He was charming and called across to say that, yes, he had recognised us the other day in Sloane Square. He went on to complain that BBC Radio 1 wouldn’t play his new single “because it was too crude”. “What’s it called?” asked Ben. “ ‘I Want Your Sex’!” he shouted, and roared away again, leaving us laughing.

We’d made up our minds by now, and so we went down to the showroom, flashed the cash, bought the pop-star car and spent the next few weeks driving our parents up and down the motorway with the roof off. It was amazing: even I had to admit that it was a thrill to be speeding along in such a machine.

A little time passed. We were happy with our glamorous new purchase, when one day we were driving down the M1 and, yes, you’ve guessed it, in the rear-view mirror Ben saw the familiar shape coming up behind. “Bloody hell, it’s George Michael again. I think he must be stalking us.”

George pulled out into the lane alongside and slowed down as he drew level with us. We wound down the windows. He gave the car a long look, up and down, smiled that smile and said, “That’s a bit more like it.” Then he sped away from us for the last time.

Cheers, George. You were friendly, and generous, and kind, and you were good at being a pop star.

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge