Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.


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.



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.



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.



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.



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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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood