Kid Cudi - Man on the Moon 2: the Legend of Mr Rager

Kid Cudi’s new album ‘Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager’ is the follow up to his debut. Actually, it’s the second instalment of the ‘Man on the Moon’ trilogy. And perhaps like many ill-fated sequels/follow-ups/middle-children, this one just doesn’t live up to the quality of the original. By no means a ‘bad’ record, I was nevertheless left disappointed with this, particularly after the first album was so great.

While the album starts strongly, with the first track marking a clear continuation from the previous, the entire record unfolds like a weak, diluted version of the beats, lyrics, narrative and uniqueness of its superior predecessor.

Once again, this album is divided into Acts, and the story progresses throughout the tracks as on a stage. This time, Kid Cudi divulges the realities of his new life, in all its fame, overindulgence and deep loneliness. Acts II and III are labelled ‘Stronger Trip’ and ‘Party On’, respectively, and both delve the self-destructive path our (anti-)hero undergoes in the attempt to destroy (or find?) himself (or his soul) amongst the tantalizing trappings of fame and fortune. By Act IV Mr Rager of the album’s title, a psychotic alter-ego, has emerged amongst all this excess in search of greater adventures, thrills, and of course, danger. The drama finally culminates in the destruction of...something. The album art depicts Kid Cudi, bloodied and gutted, staring lifelessly from the floor where a knife rests beside his blood-soaked hands. Yet, the final track, one of the better songs on the album, is titled ‘Trapped in My Mind’ and is an internal monologue as the artist contemplates whether or not he’s crazy, and if that’s actually a bad thing. And of course, there is the final instalment of the trilogy to come, suggesting that it is not the hero who has been beaten. So maybe it’s Mr Rager who has died by the end, and Kid Cudi wrestling with the annihilation of his other personality, and now left with nothing but the thoughts in his own mind.

This story should have been a great premise from which to produce another outstanding album, surpassing the previous. But alas that’s not what happened. While there are, without a doubt, some great tracks on this record, mediocrity was the overwhelming impression I got. This is of course, in comparison to the first album. Because this album is still pretty good in comparison to the real mediocre stuff out there. But to accomplish real excellence is to surpass your own excellence, and that’s not what Kid Cudi has achieved here. Let’s hope he can redeem himself in the third album and produce something amazing. I still have hope! [Image from http://www.culturebully.com/]

Rehearsal - Shanghai Biennale

The eighth Shanghai Biennale was a strange mix of innovative and subtly provocative art, with prosaic, prescribed and uninspiring concoctions. Titled ‘Rehearsal’, the works in the Shanghai Art Museum were Act III in a four-act, one-and-a-half year long project which explores the processes of art creation, production, presentation and dissemination. Within the theme, the suggestion also is that exhibition spaces are not necessarily the final destination for many artworks, but are merely springboards from which artists embark on additional journeys of creativity. While it is an ambitious concept, the result (so far?) can be considered as taking the idea a little too literally, with the inclusion of many works which should never have left the private sanctity of the artist’s studio.

At the core of the ‘Rehearsal’ biennale is the Ho Chi Minh Trail, brought to us by the organisers of the Long March Project, which will sustain the show, along with other separate projects, throughout its four acts. Works from this project are dotted throughout the levels of the Art Museum, but, due to questionable curatorial organisation, were either dwarfed by other works or simply mixed in with unrelated pieces which made them hard to identify, and hence appreciate, as being from the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Particularly on the first floor, where an amalgam of paintings, photographic prints and videos were meshed in with other disparate works, the effect was nothing more than a curatorial mess. This was definitely the part where the ‘rehearsal’ needed a whole lot more tweaking before the final production.

Individually, there were works of impeccable quality and solid concepts. Chinese artist Liu Xiadong’s pair of large-scale paintings depicting the at once hopeless and hopeful aftermath of the Sichuan earthquake are such works. ‘Getting out of Beichuan’ portrays a group of teenage boys in a small boat, seemingly floating directionless, yet peacefully, amidst a flock of white cranes in mid-take off. Adjacent to this is ‘Entering Lake Tai.’ Equally grand in scale, this painting presents a group of young girls poised stoically in the place where their lake once was, against the backdrop of a mountain village in rubbles. Accompanying these pieces are documentary photographs and videos of the artist in the arduous process of painting. This is one example of where the ‘Rehearsal’ theme was perfectly executed.

Of course, not all were as polished or conceptually sound. One ‘installation’ (if you can call hanging up some pieces of paper on a three-walled room an installation, which the organisers of the show did) which prompted a loud “WTF!” and quite a bit of disappointment and resentment from yours truly was Austrian artist Josef Trattner’s wine paintings. Yeah, that’s right, wine. And it was called ‘Blind Taste’. Something was definitely blind in not only the creation, but selection of this work for the biennale. This installation was found in what I came to realise was the Nepotism Corner; a section of the top floor predominated by works which did not appear to fit the theme or any concept of good art, and were probably there through some personal connection with the curators (on the gossip side of the art world, the Shanghai Biennale is apparently notorious for sneaking in friends of those in high places). Trattner’s wine paintings has to be one of them, otherwise the only other explanation for its inclusion in the show is that someone was really drunk (and blind) when the decision was made. While wine can work as a meaningful symbol of civilisation, this was no way to metaphorise it. The works, quite literally a mass of A2 sized paper covered in splotches of either red or white wine and sprinkled with glitter, are supposed to, according to the guidebook, “bring back your deepest memory, arouse the most passionate emotions, and remind you of the mightiness of history.” WTF?!?! By this time, I had major biennale fatigue, having already been through two biennales in five days and I had no patience for such rhetorical fluff and bad art.

Another phenomenon I discovered here was wall text composed in what I can only describe as the strange literary style of socialist rhetoric. This is not necessarily a good or bad thing, just an anomaly amongst all other captions I have read. Whether it be a language/translation barrier, or a real indoctrination of socialist expression that has made its way into the biennale world, the texts seemed to speak directly to the reader, and offer strong suggestions on what we should think and feel about the works. The above quote is one example amongst many that caught me off guard and left me feeling like I had just been told how to think, but in the nicest of ways.

So that is the spectrum of the quality of works in this very convoluted show. After over a week of reflection, I’m still not sure of what I think of it. While a biennale should not be judged purely for the way in which it interprets and implements its own theme (as many of these are arbitrary and deliberately broad, chosen in order to include almost anything in the show), I feel as though Shanghai, in particular, did not execute its theme adequately at all. That said, many of the works were beautiful, stunning, thought-provoking, moving and just plain good in their own right, and perhaps that’s what I should take from the experience of the Shanghai Biennale. Simply that it was a show with a real mixture of good and bad art. [Image from http://www.supernice.eu/]

Living in Evolution - Busan Biennale, South Korea

The theme of the Busan Biennale is ‘Living in Evolution’ and it explores both the evolution of humanity as a species, and that of the individual. Set in venues and spaces dotted throughout the sky-scraper port city, the works in this biennale present the dual ideas that, on the one hand, ‘artworks themselves are points where the life of one person – the artist – intersects with the evolution of the human race’, and on the other, artworks are ‘related to life or something beyond the life of any single individual’ (T. Azumaya, Artistic Director).

However, more than being investigations into the dualities of evolution, many of the works in this exhibition are simply fun and enjoyable to view, evoking first and foremost the spectacle nature of art. ‘Earth Baby’ by Japanese artist Tomoko Konoike is one such work. An enormous, sparkly, open-mouthed baby head that rotates in the centre of a large, dark room, this work is supposed to represent the earth floating in space, perhaps before its gradual evolution into the planet we now know. But standing on a platform in the dark room and looking down at this spinning ‘Earth Baby’ made me feel as though I were revolving around its disco-ball head; all I could think was ‘This is really cool!’ And sometimes, while it is important to understand the concept and academic approaches of a work, it is just as important to enjoy it visually and experientially. This work, and others in the exhibition, like the installation of a room full of dolls’ hair, offered just that, and hence a light-hearted, optimistic approach to evolution thus far.

Of course, there were also works which sought to remind us of the horrendous effects of the (d)evolution of humanity. Dinh Q. Le’s much-celebrated ‘Farmers and Helicopters’ video installation is a work which juxtaposes the traumatic memories of the helicopters which were so ubiquitous in inflicting horror on Vietnam War survivors, with the more positive opinions of newer generation Vietnamese farmers who view the helicopter as a convenient tool in their rural lives. The differences in the interviewee’s opinions represent the ongoing conflict and traumatic residues of the War. Another sobering work was Yishay Garbasz’s photographic series documenting the European locations his mother inhabited during her internment in Nazi death camps during WWII. Accompanying these photographs, taken retrospectively in this century, are his mother’s memories of each location, recorded in her own writing, decades after the end of the war. Alongside this work is a documentation of Garbasz’s own physical and psychological transformation from becoming a man to a woman, at the same time as she took the journey of her mother’s imprisonment throughout Europe.

Finally, one of the best artworks I have ever seen is Zadok Ben-David’s ‘Blackfield’ at the Yacht Club, an old, dilapidated warehouse overlooking the dock. The work comprises about 20000 hand-painted, stainless steel plant sculptures, varying in height from 1cm to 22cm, all sprouting out of a large bed of sand. Upon entering the venue, the audience is faced with a mass of black plants, in what resembles a post-apocalyptic scene of ruin and death. However, as you walk along the edges of the sand, and look back on the plants, an overwhelming sense of joy and delight takes over; the darkness slowly transforms into vibrant colours as the other side of the plant sculptures have been intricately painted with the bright hues of a fertile nature. It was a beautiful experience to be able to see plants growing and blossoming before your very eyes. I was absolutely mesmerised by the splendour and beauty of this work, which really encapsulates the experience of discovery that I love so much about viewing and encountering art.

Overall this Biennale was thematically sound and well-executed. The works engaged themselves with the dialogue of evolution and also positioned art centrally in this discourse. More importantly, the Biennale was simply great to look at and experience. [Images from ME]

10000 Lives - Gwangju Biennale, South Korea

The Eighth Gwangju Biennale was the best I have seen so far. Tightly packaged under the title ’10000 Lives’, the Biennale explored the ubiquitous nature of images and our obsessive, iconophilic relationships with them. Included amongst the works by 134 artists are relics, cultural artifacts, newspaper clippings, found photographs, documentation and even spirit drawings which push the boundaries of what constitute art and imagery in a world so dominated by pictures that are ravenously consumed and then often easily discarded.

The Biennale was divided up into seven sections, with each exploring a different facet of image making. Gallery 1 of the Biennale Hall dealt with ‘photographic representation, posing, and the construction of the self through images’ (M. Gioni, Curator). Such processes were presented in numerous ways, from the opening tableaus of on-line communities coming together in the real world, to an uncanny photograph of a 19-year-old Norma Jean Baker (later Marilyn Monroe) with a sheet over her head in an interpretation of death, to Sherrie Levine’s appropriations of Walker Evans’ FSA Documentary photographs alongside the originals, and finally to an intriguing and insightfully humorous video exploring the mechanics of the family portrait from Korean artist Heungsoon Im.

Gallery 2 explored ‘the mechanics of vision through optical illusions and para-scientific imaginaries’ (Gioni) and contained Thomas Bayrle’s psychedelic superforms, Sars drawings from Chinese healer and artist Guo Fengyi, ultra high-speed photographs from electrical engineer Harold Edgerton, and a video of blind people painting murals, amongst numerous others.

The most confronting was Gallery 3, which brought together ‘works that deal with the representation of heroes and martyrs, the way images are used to create myths, preserve memory, or bear witness to war and oppression’ (Gioni). Here, national and global events were explored; such as the Holocaust, the funeral of RFK, pro-democracy rallies in Korea, the war in Afghanistan and prison photographs of inmates at Tuol Sleng, the Khmer Rouge’s school of torture, taken by a 16-year-old ‘photographer in chief.’

Perhaps the most moving, confronting, and conflicting work in the Biennale was the Rent Collection Courtyard, originally made in the 1960s. These 114 life-size bronze sculptures tell the story of the hardship and exploitation endured by a village of peasants at the hand of a corrupt landlord. These peasants then rise up against the landlord and overthrow their oppressor. Walking through this narrative tableaux brought me to tears as I witnessed the back-breaking labour performed by children and their grandparents, saw the expressions of exhausted defeat in their delicately carved-out features, and felt the overwhelming heartbreak of mothers whose children are ripped from their arms. My feelings of compassion and outrage were quickly compromised, however, after I read that this collection was the visual catalyst for Mao’s Cultural Revolution, a regime no less harsh, oppressive and tyrannical than that of village landlords. I still don’t know what to think of this work. On its own, it tells a powerful story of the indignities of such a skewed class system, but viewed in its historical context, the work is then given sinister and malevolent undertones, and I am disinclined to sympathise with its cause.

Gallery 4 looked at ‘religious figures and idols, fetishes and dolls’ (Gioni). This was the weakest of all the exhibits, with two rooms dedicated to a random display of images and sculptures of dolls and doll parts, and another two intricately-constructed rooms dedicated to a museological presentation of 3000 found photographs of teddy bears. Gallery 5 presented ‘idiosyncratic perspectives on the structures of cinema and television’ (Gioni) and had, as its main display, a video of people performing day-to-day tasks suspended upside down. This offered light relief after the journey through the Biennale Hall. The Folk Museum brought together works that ‘address the interaction of images and memory’; and finally the Museum of Art focused on ‘self-portraiture and images as projections of the self’ (Gioni).

It was an epic mission just to sustain oneself physically, psychologically and retinally through this mass bombardment of images. But it was well worth the trek. The meticulous organisation of the show under the subheadings, and the well-guided arrows which led audiences through the exhibition, as through an Ikea show room, made it possible for us to absorb, contemplate and fall in love with (or question) as many works as our mental capacities could handle. Given the enormity of the theme and its almost infinite possibilities, this was a show that could have been drowned out by the power of its own ideas. But it wasn’t. Instead, Gioni has created a stunning curatorial masterpiece which, on the one hand neatly categorises images under easily-digestible sub-headings, but simultaneously continues the discourse surrounding the finesse and nuances of image-making and art-creation. [Image of Rent Collection from http://artradarjournal.com/; image of Teddy Bear Project from http://angelfloresjr.multiply.com/]

The Other Guys

This movie is HILARIOUS! It is one of the funniest and cleverest movies I have seen.

Narrated by the authoritative voice of Ice T, the film is about ‘The Other Guys’, the less-than-competent law enforcers whom most cop shows and movies are not about. Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg’s partnership is the inept antithesis of Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne Johnson’s (the Rock) heroic and arrogant team. When the latter die in the line of duty Terry, Wahlberg’s character, wants to fill the opening slot for top cops. Meanwhile, his passive partner Allen (Ferrell) is content with pushing papers and filing reports. The partners then get embroiled in an elaborate fraud case, which Terry keeps insisting is really concealing drugs, and the full extent of the incompetence of the police force is revealed.

The plot is far from original, or intense. But take a stock-in-trade storyline and immerse it in a pool of clever satire teeming with great actors, and awkward situations, and you’ve got a winner.

Here, Wahlberg channels his usually intense and serious acting into a hyperbolic presentation of an ‘angry cop’ with some hilarious outcomes. Declaring throughout the movie, “I’m a peacock, you gotta let me fly!’ his character is demoted for shooting Derek Jeter, prized New York Yankee, right before the World Series, and is therefore stuck at a desk playing Solitaire. Allen, on the other hand, has a “plain wife” in Eva Mendes, is relegated to a wooden gun and then a rape whistle as his police weapon, and takes pride in his Prius which his irate partner feels is “like we’re literally driving around in a vagina.” Together, the two are out to bring down an equally incompetent investment banker David Ershon, played by Steve Coogan, who must embezzle $32billion in order to cover his losses. Of course, Allen and Terry keep getting sidetracked by Ershon’s not-so-subtle attempts to buy their cooperation, which they only realise in retrospect is bribery. The cherry on top of this unlikely comedic cast is Michael Keaton’s role as the police Captain who also works at a manchester store and inadvertently quotes TLC lyrics.

This mish-mash of over-the-top characters, improbable situations and side-splitting one-liners can only be described as random. But in the best possible way! It’s not often that a piece of satire really hits the nail on the head in terms of effectively parodying clichés and exposing unlikely realities while still being funny and light-hearted. ‘The Other Guys’ does just that and it is brilliant! [Image from http://www.thefilmyap.com/]

Unleashed

This is an oldie but a goody. Released in 2005, ‘Unleashed’ is set in the grimy underbelly of Glasgow, and shot in a contemporary film noir style that captures the character of 21st century organised crime and the disturbing nature of barbarity in a modern, first world context.

The film tells the story of Danny, a young man who has spent most of his life as a slave and ‘attack dog’ to a small-time mob boss. Jet Li is Danny, who knows nothing of life or love, and spends his days on a leash. Around his neck is a collar which keeps him obedient and docile, until it is taken off at his master’s will and Danny is ordered to ‘Kill’. Only then does he jump into action, having been trained his whole life to attack and kill on demand.

When an attempted murder of his boss leaves him stranded and alone for the first time, Danny finds salvation with a blind piano tuner, played by Morgan Freeman, and his step daughter. Together, this small family introduces Danny to the world; from simple delights like an ice-cream brain freeze, to the delicate tunes of the piano that will bring him back to life. Most importantly, Danny’s new family shows him love, and helps him to remember his past and how he came to be in such a cruel situation.

When Bart, the mob boss, finds his prized fighting dog, he stops at nothing to get him back. And of course, the martial arts action and stunts kick in as Danny tries to protect his new family and save himself from returning to a loveless life of degradation.

Yet this is not an ‘action film’ in the popular, blow-things-up, break-bodies-for-the-fun-of-it kind of way. It actually tells a compelling story with a very unique protagonist. Indeed, while Bob Hoskins is sufficiently menacing and terrifying as the mob boss, and Morgan Freeman encapsulates compassion and whole-hearted acceptance, it is Jet Li, as Danny, who gives the stand-out performance. In this film, Li really flexes his acting muscles, embodying the paradox of a naive and innocent killing machine. His naivety of not realising the horrendousness of his life as he lives it, because he knows of nothing else, is heartbreaking and exceptional at the same time. As Danny’s small and gradual discoveries of the world bring him peace, he continues to resist the viscous training that has been engrained in his psyche. It is a struggle that Li executes with nuance and meticulous skill, and it was a delight to watch. This is definitely the best and deepest role I have seen Li in. I was actually pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed the film! [Image from http://www.smh.com.au/]

Paths to Abstraction - AGNSW

The evolution of abstract art paralleled the dramatic technological developments of the modern world and, at the same time, irrevocably altered the practice of art. From Europe to the USA, from the first days of the German state to the Great War, from Whistler to Malevich, abstraction occurred almost serendipitously across time, continents and individuals. All at once it evolved from the desire to depart from life-like depictions, which the introduction of photography could now produce, to a real investigation into, and experimentation with colour, form, materials and subject matter. It is well-accepted that the pioneering efforts of Modernism have pathed the way for subsequent movements of Postmodernism in the latter half of the twentieth century and whatever ‘ism’ that now defines the multifarious character of contemporary art. Furthermore, not only did these forebears raise the still heavily-debated question of ‘what is art?’, but in inciting such debate they have also made it possible to include almost anything and everything into this previously-limited canon.


The AGNSW’s exhibition offers a well-constructed recount of the American-European journey to abstraction. The exhibition walls deliberately direct gallery visitors through the many phases early 20th century art.

While the exhibition offers a broad selection of works from the time, its expansiveness is achieved at the cost of any real depth. Paths to Abstraction merely skates on the smooth, uncontentious surface of the Modernist movements without delving into any profound analysis or litigious historical exploration. In staging such a mainstream recount, the curators were unable to capture the excitement and ‘radicalness’ that the artworks were at the time of their unveiling, in the anxious revolutionary zeal of pre-War Europe. That is, these works are not properly contextualised. Instead, they are positioned as the highest of high art, with all the aura that this canonising bestows. Even the accompanying captions use the term ‘avant-garde’ with all its institutionally-weighted connotations; so esoteric as to almost negate the essential rebellious undertones that characterises these works.

So though this exhibition marks a good starting point for those interested in contemporary art, it is, by no means, comprehensive. Such artworks and artists ought to be clearly recognised as the renegades of high art that they initially were, and the Modernist masters they have retrospectively become. [Image from http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/current/paths_to_abstraction]

Drake - Thank Me Later

The much anticipated debut album of Canadian-born rapper Drake has fallen short of the aspirational allusions conjured by the Obama ‘Hope’ appropriation of his album cover. The young rapper almost sets himself up for an Icarus-style disappointment before we can even open the CD case, with a bold cover which alludes to Drake as the rap world’s Obama. Perhaps if he was presenting himself with a little more modesty, I wouldn’t have to be so scathing. But alas he hasn’t, and so I will be.

The album is uneven at best and completely self-indulgent at worst. While it begins well enough, with a stylistic and conceptually sophisticated duet with Alicia Keys, such moments of musical brilliance are short-lived and sporadic. Instead the record is flooded by a deluge of crass over-sexualisations of ‘fancy’ girls, extremely premature self-congratulatory proclamations, and the contradictory existential moments of melancholy at the cash-fuelled emptiness that is his successful rap career.

Of course, not all of it is bad. Some of the tracks are good, and it is apparent that they have been produced by some of the best in the business. But after about the fifth song, that whiney, monotone ‘lyricism’ that is Drake’s rapping really starts to grate at the ear drums.

So while this is a wholly adequate debut album, its pretence of being so much more is what prompts criticism and dramatic eye-rolling from those like myself who believe that, even if an artist is 100% sure of the brilliance of their talents, a little bit of humility and modesty would not go astray when one is trying to prove the legitimacy of such abilities to the rest of the world. Because if an artist is going to imply that they’re brilliant, and the evidence proves the contrary, then it’s fair game for consumers like me to swoop in and point the finger at such blatant and premature self-glorifications. [Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:ThankMeLater.jpg]

Westside Story

While an interesting appropriation of Shakespeare’s infamous ‘Romeo and Juliet’, ‘Westside Story’ can, in no way, replace the original. The story tells of an American boy and Puerto-Rican immigrant girl who meet and fall in love in the mean streets of New York, where their respective ‘gangs’ are in the middle of a turf war. Obviously, the romance is doomed from the beginning as Tony and Maria struggle to legitimise their love in an intolerant world.

This is an interesting premise for an adaptation of Shakespeare’s feuding families, and one that should, like the Montague and Capulet war, resonate throughout time and geography. And yet, the version of the Broadway classic that I saw at Sydney’s Lyric Theatre, seemed dated and uneven throughout. While the dancing was superb – performed in a style that my limited dancing vocabulary could only describe as ‘contemporary ballet’ for the 21st century – the rest of the production seemed to have been left behind in the 1950s when the play debuted.

Furthermore I suspect that the leads were chosen not for their acting prowess, but rather for their abilities to hold a really high and long tune. This would be completely acceptable if they were, say, auditioning for a choir; but one would assume that a theatre production of this calibre could find two people who can sing and act equally well. Josh Piterman and Julie Goodwin’s portrayal of the ill-fated lovers was flat, apathetic and without any real passion.

The only stand-out performance was from Alinta Chidzey who plays Maria’s sassy and fully-Americanised confident Anita. Her performance was charismatic, witty and full of biting humour. In fact, she received the loudest applause at the end of the show.

Perhaps I’m being too harsh, as I’m subconsciously comparing this production with ‘Wicked’, which, in my mind, cannot be beaten. Having said that, I suspect that no-one was supposed to laugh when Maria realised that Tony was dead. Well, I did. [Image from http://www.theaustralian.com/]

Biennale of Sydney Part 3 - Cockatoo Island

My last stop at the Biennale of Sydney had much the same result as my previous visits to other venues. The only difference was that the apathy was on a much larger scale. This time it was an island full of works I found uninteresting, uninspiring or plane irrelevant. And again, it was a real trek (mentally, and this time physically) to find any works that I actually liked, or found interesting. But there were some.

Serge Spitzer’s ‘Molecular (SYDNEY)’ was a simply executed work in which small metal balls randomly covered the floor of the roofless Guard House at the top of Cockatoo Island. While you could not walk into the stone-walled structure, standing at its entrance and gazing down at these thousands of dark grey balls brings about the feeling of vertigo, of falling into and being encompassed by this work. It’s a claustrophobic feeling which starkly juxtaposes with the openness and expanse of the top of the island.

By far the most confronting work I’ve ever encountered is Shen Shaomin’s ‘Summit.’ I couldn’t even walk into this room. Upon approaching the entrance to the black-curtained room, I realised that what lay inside were four corpses and one dying body of the world’s most significant communist leaders. Now of course they were merely life-sized creations arranged in a pentagon shape, having a hypothetical meeting akin to the annual G8 Summit; but the verisimilitude of their forms and the fact that these figures were not presented as living, in their political prime, but rather deceased, relics from the past, was too much for me to handle. I stayed at the entrance, looking from afar, and silently moved on.

My favourite work in the entire biennale has to be Korean artist Choi Jeong Hwa suspended colanders hanging from the ceiling of Building 74 down by the docks of the island. This work, simple in its concept, yet majestic in execution captures the very essence of what contemporary art should be. The biennale text explains that Hwa’s “playful practice comments on the privileged environment of art institutions and questions the prized status of artworks amidst a consumer-frenzied world.” What better objects with which to make such a statement than one of the most overlooked, yet ubiquitous , pieces of the quotidian – colanders. Joined together to create strings of different-shaped balls, the colanders hang delicately from the ceiling to transform the audience from the old abandoned dock building to another, more ethereal place, if only for the briefest of moments as you walk through this enchanting forest of plastic. It’s a beautiful paradox, and one which has universal relevance. [The image show here is of the work on another site. But just imagine it in a warehouse-type setting.]

Overall, however, the over-riding theme of this biennale seems to be, not distance, but rather quantity and scale. With over 400 works, a large percentage of which were video works, this biennale was, in a practical sense, impossible to get through. And though there may be a select group of art aficionados out there with the dedication and patience to sit through all those hours of video works, there is, without a doubt, an overwhelming majority who just would not be bothered. I’m part of the latter. Even Cockatoo Island, a place that technology has long since forgotten, was swarming with video works in the most unlikely of niches and crevices. And while the installation and innovative arrangement of the videos was very unique and impressive, the awe and amazement soon subsided once the works were found. In fact, the act of exploring the island and discovering art works and the unlikely locations of video works was a whole lot more interesting than the works themselves.

This exhibition was touted on the publicity trail as the largest in the series of Sydney Biennales. And it is. But unfortunately, that’s all it has going for it. For it seems that, in the fervour and ambition of trying to create the biggest biennale, artistic director David Elliot forgot about what should have been the more important goal – to create the best compilation of contemporary art works. At this, the 17th Biennale of Sydney has failed. [Image from http://www.boudist.com/. While it is not the image of the artwork  to which I refer, this work, titled 'Hubble Bubble' was placed at the Opera House and is quite similar to the one at Cockatoo Island. It was just bigger.]

Biennale of Sydney Part 2 - Artspace & AGNSW

The Biennale of Sydney is turning out to be quite lacklustre. My second trip was to Artspace at Woolloomooloo and the Art Gallery of NSW, and in both venues I was tremendously underwhelmed.

Artspace offered little more than a disproportionately large amount of long, esoteric, uninspired video works that, let’s face it, no-one is going to sit around for hours on end to watch. One of only two points of interest was situated opposite the entrance, where visitors are confronted by a visually stunning and large scale photo montage by Lebanese artist Lara Baladi. But upon closer inspection, even this struggled to go any deeper than simple collage and pastiche. The other point of interest is the makeshift ‘bar’ setting that is an experimental performance space co-curated by Tokyo’s SuperDeluxe group. One of the main events is the weekly PechaKucha nights where people gather to present thoughts, ideas and good old conversation. It is an interesting project which harnesses the principles of Nicholas Bourriaud’s theory of Relational Aesthetics which posits that the art work only exists with the cooperation and participation of viewers.

A short drive away, the AGNSW hosts a modest display of works by seven Asian artists, all neatly placed in the entrance hall. Again, while the other works weren’t so bad, only two works here managed to really grab my attention. The first was Rabiq Shaw’s ‘The mild-eyed melancholy of the lotus eaters III’, a grand and grandiosely-decorated painting of grotesque anthropomorphic creatures portrayed with stunning vibrancy and flashy metallics. The biennale’s guide writes that, “Despite its deeply historical visual allusions, Shaw’s beautiful treatment of transmogrification in erotic desire can be read as a contemporary allegory of human greed and lust.” While I did not quite pick all this up from one viewing, I still found the violent images, arranged in such stunning fashion, to be visually mesmerising and surreal. On the other hand, Yamaguchi Akira’s sombre, monochromatic cityscapes, painted in traditional Japanese style presents a seamless amalgamation of the duality between East and West in many modern Asian cities. While lacking the brilliant colours and bold imagery of Shaw’s ‘Lotus eaters’ Akira’s paintings communicate just as clearly the intersection between tradition and urbanity with understated style.

Despite these rare gems, disappointment was, once again, the overwhelming result of another visit to the biennale. Predominately a result of vague artwork selections and too many video works. My last stop is Cockatoo Island, apparently the pièce de résistance of the biennale. Hopefully it can salvage my once high hopes for the event. [Images from http://media.biennaleofsydney.com.au/ and http://theartlife.com.au/]

Eminem - Recovery

Eminem’s new album ‘Recovery’ has brought him out of the abyss of washed-up obscurity. After years of problems, which included two mediocre and quite shallow albums, Eminem has come back with a record that is reminiscent of the success and quality of the ‘Marshall Mathers LP’.

The album is rife with the introspection, self-reflexivity and verbal acrobatics that is characteristic of Eminem’s style. Here the artist is harshly honest, to the point of self-deprecation (at one point he refers to himself as ‘the shit stain on the underwear of life’ – I couldn’t help but lol), as he reflects on the demons and absolute lows of his life in recent years, and the more positive transformation he hopes to make with the release of the album, and a new outlook on life. But don’t expect such optimism to be accompanied by happy beats and cheery lyrics. For even in expressing his hopes for the future, Eminem maintains that edgy, ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that we’ve come to know so well.

The second track, ‘Talkin’ 2 Myself’, is one of the best and most powerful, and sets the tone for the entire record. Like much of the album, the track is deeply confessional as it reveals Eminem’s demons and his deepest darkest thoughts as he was wallowed up in the hole of self pity. It is part internal dialogue, and part address to the public on where Eminem has been and where he intends to go. The song not only recounts the drug-fuelled struggles the artist has had over the years, but also critiques his actions. At one point Eminem admits to having considered writing a song dissing Lil’ Wayne and Kanye West out of pure jealousy, but didn’t because “I’da had my ass handed to me, and I knew it.” But Eminem emerges from the dark abyss, recalling how he finally snapped out of it and said to himself, “instead of feelin’ sorry for yourself do somethin’ ‘bout it / admit you got a problem, your brain is clouded you pouted / long enough, it isn’t them it’s you you fuckin’ baby / quit worryin’ about what they do and do Shady.” The song fittingly ends with the proclamation “to everybody else...I’m back!”

This is truly one of the great comeback albums. Not only does it contain the very necessary commercial appeal, through collaborations with some very big names, but it also has the much more important ingredients of real creativity and honest song writing that makes an artistically successful record. Some songs are uncomfortably confessional, others are outrageously hilarious in their social commentaries and inversion of the English language, and finally one is a touching tribute to the rapper’s slain friend and band mate Proof. Whatever your thoughts on Eminem and his controversial public image, one cannot deny, particularly after listening to this album, that he is one of those rare artists who can transform internal thoughts into poetic lyrics, and finally into an awesome rap.

[Check out another really good review on the album, http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/eminem-recovery-20100625-z98t.html - I think it says it better.]

Biennale of Sydney Part 1 - Museum of Contemporary Arts

This year the Biennale of Sydney is titled, ‘The Beauty of Distance: Songs of Survival in a Precarious Age’, and its most concentrated venue is the Museum of Contemporary Arts (MCA), down at Circular Quay, which houses 285 works by 92 international and Australian artists. This was an extremely ambitious exhibition site, with all four levels of the museum jam-packed with artworks and visitors. While the large number of visitors is a promising reflection on the success of the event, the equally vast amount of artworks made much of the venue seem overcrowded, thus stripping the exhibition of any real direction, despite the very specific theme.

Indeed, walking through the MCA (one of many venues of the BoS) was like that very familiar experience of walking through a generic, mainstream supermarket (a common metaphor now linked with the experience of many international biennials). I mainly browsed through the aisles, quickly taking in what was on offer – the ordinary ‘fillers’ that take up a lot of shelf space but really are unnecessary – lingered on the interesting items, and only stopped to pick up the really good things. In fact, amongst all 285 works, I only really enjoyed works by three artists, and absolutely detested one.

Christian Jankowski’s ‘Tableaux Vivant’ was one work which absolutely delighted me, and that’s saying a lot given my intolerance for video works. This was a clever, complex, yet humorous exploration into the many processes behind creating a biennale art work. In this, Jankowski has brought together the main television networks, along with some very big names in the art industry, into his quasi-documentary of the creation of this work, ‘Tableaux Vivant.’ The work goes through all the processes of art making in a television context, with real-life journalists reporting on all aspects of the development; from conceptual inception, to filming and editing, publicity, even the mid-work angst an artist feels when they are immersed in their work and can’t find a way out.

Funnily enough, another work that I loved was also a video work, and something very different from Jankowski’s. The artist is Thai-born Araya Rasdjarmrearnsook, and if you think her name is a lot to take in, her video work is even more overwhelming. ‘The Two Planets Series ‘ is enclosed in a room where three walls make up the screens for three different videos playing simultaneously. The clips showThai peasants conversing over canonical works of modern art. Manet’s once-controversial ‘Luncheon on the Grass’ is controversial again, while van Gogh’s ‘The Midday Sleep’ and Millet’s ‘The Gleaners’ elicit conversations about farming, village talent quests and what ‘those people’ do as opposed to ‘us’. The work is an intriguing and unique approach to exploring the whole ‘planet’ of difference between the two worlds of the ‘cultured’ West and the rural East. If not for its revelation of such vast differences, then the work is worth staying and watching just to listen in on the hilarious conversations between the villagers.

Kent Monkman’s beautifully painted and grandly scaled works challenge the very entrenched and deeply distorted Euro-American history of colonialism. These paintings, magnificently composed and encompassing a vast spectrum of natural and artificial colours combine mythical, homo-erotic beings with an appropriated colonial style in a clever parody on the widely-accepted, yet quietly acknowledged one-sided history that such ‘New World’ paintings originally told. Here, the painter’s immense skill is presented with stinging socio-historical commentaries on the traditional ‘Cowboys and Indians’ stories. The paintings are magnificent.

These anomalies aside, the other 280 works in the MCA were mainly interesting at best, ordinary and uninspiring at times, and completely irrelevant at worst. Perhaps I would have found more inspiration in more works if I wasn’t so bombarded by the immense amount of artworks. So far, the over-ambitious scale of the MCA has fallen short of realising the theme of the Biennale. Stay tuned to see what the other venues have in store. [Images from http://www.artnet.com/, http://blog.cofa.unsw.edu.au/, http://bos17.sitesuite.net.au/]

Nas & Damien 'Jr Gong' Marley - Distant Relatives

‘Distant Relatives’ is a full collaborative effort between Nas and Damien ‘Jr Gong’ Marley which, as the artists explain, “explore and celebrate the correlations and deep-rooted connections between reggae and hip hop, tracing both sounds back to the African motherland that is both the cradle of humanity and the wellspring of mankindʼs music.” (check out their myspace) Such a monumental task has been achieved in this record which comprises a seamless amalgamation of hip hop and reggae beats, along with some very well-written and provocative lyrics.

The album packs a lot into an average-lengthed recording. Exploring a myriad of issues – from diaspora and displacement, to family and friends, and finally to religion and even the origin of humanity – the songs are highly political, deeply reflective, historically contentious, acutely aware of social forces, and didactic enough for an attuned listener to sit up and pay attention. All this without being overly-serious and completely accusatory.

This is an extremely well-composed piece of storytelling. The songs are great compositions in their own right, combining well-written poetic verse, with some extremely funky and varied beats, which range from tribal to up lifting. But together, the tracks tell a poignant and conflicting story of the African people; their history, culture, oppression, and finally their (impending) freedom. For example, the final track, ‘Africa must wake up’, charts the long history of the continent from its glorious past to its displaced present, making some confronting claims throughout. Nas asks, “Who are we today? / The slums/ Deceases / AIDS...Our Diaspora/ Is the final chapter / The ancestral lineage / Built pyramids / America’s first immigrant / The King’s son and daughters / From Nile waters / The first architect / The first philosophers / Astronomers / The first prophets and the doctors was us.”

There is much to say, and much to discover in this extremely unique and multifaceted ode to reggae, hip hop and the African motherland. Needless to say, this is what good music should do – incite passion, provoke revolutionary thought, and instill an awareness of society and, not only its ills but also, its redemptive capacity. [image from http://www.realhiphopsince79.com/]

Once Removed

This group show, curated by Felicity Fenner, was exhibited at the 53rd Venice Biennale last year, representing Australia in the art world’s main event. The three installations in 'Once Removed' all refer “to aspects of place and the predicament of displacement...of individuals, communities and entire racial groups” (Fenner, 2009). Such a global phenomenon is familiar to many of us, and especially poignant to the peoples of Australia, who, whether recently or in generations passed, have come to this land from foreign countries. The myriad experiences of this phenomenon is firstly manifested through the selection of artists; Vernon Ah Kee is an Indigenous Australian with Chinese ancestry, Claire Healy is Caucasian and born in Melbourne, her collaborative partner Sean Cordeiro is Asian-Australian and born in Sydney, while Ken Yonetani was born in Tokyo and now lives in Katoomba. While the works in this exhibition have artistic strength and conceptual sophistication in their own right, thus representing the many ways in which we are all different, with our individual identities and backgrounds; together, they also show the way in which, essentially, we are all the same in our journey through the contemporary world and the multi-faceted dimensions of humanity.

Ah Kee’s ‘Cant Chant’ is an elaborate, multi-pieced installation which plays out the intersection between Aboriginal tradition and Australian culture and the very conflicted historical background on which such confrontations take place. Ah Kee’s video shows members of his family surfing at the iconic Surfer’s Paradise on boards which have a segment of their faces on one side, and Aboriginal patterns on the other. These boards have subsequently been hung in the gallery amongst white walls with the artist’s signature bold black statements.

‘Life Span’, by Healy and Cordeiro, is monumental not only in concept, but also in execution and of course size. A huge solid cube made up of 195 774 VHS tapes, the work is a literal representation of an average person’s lifespan of 66.1 years – that’s how long it would take to watch all these videos. Evoking the grandness of the church in which it originally stood at Venice, without of course the same aesthetic appeal, the cube stands stoically over those who view it, overwhelming us with its presence and the thought that, if your life was to look like one single thing, then perhaps this is what it would be. Such a thought is both disconcerting, yet oddly comforting.

Finally, my favourite installation would have to be Yonetani’s ‘Sweet Barrier Reef’, a work which has the grace and delicate beauty of a traditional painting, with the conceptual sting and socio-political commentary of art that is conscious of its time. Made entirely from white sugar and modelled on the form of a Japanese Zen garden, the work casts a light on the little-known environmental crime of coral bleaching by the sugar industry. While the work looks absolutely beautiful and serene, the knowledge of its context evokes, what Fenner describes as, “a post-apocalyptic landscape in which everything is bleached white and has perished.” The fragility of this work, and hence the increasingly frail environment it represents, is made even more apparent by the sugar, which appears to hold the entire work together but can break away or become deformed from a single touch (as I learned when my two-year-old stuck his fingers into the edge of the work).

Of course, these works require much more time and depth to adequately understand their complexities and the comments they have to make on individual and community experiences. Unfortunately, what I have here will have to suffice. The exhibition is currently showing at the Campbelltown Arts Centre until the beginning of August, so check it out, it’s well worth the trip! [Images from ozarts.com.au and balnavesfoundation.com]

Rihanna - Rated R

Rihanna’s latest album ‘Rated R’ is good in the sense that the songs are catchy, radio-worthy and overall appealing to the general population. Regular readers of this blog will probably know where I’m going with this.

The album is skilfully compiled, with a wide variety of well-composed beats and songs, ranging from pop, slow jams, hard-core hip hop and rnb, and even an ‘experimental’ rock song. However, the songs’ contents lack any real artistic merit and maturity, oscillating superficially between anger, remorse and self-pity. This is probably due to the fact that this album was Rihanna’s first professional attempt at song writing, and it shows.

In an interview with ‘W’ magazine, Rihanna says of the album, “It was really personal; it was from me in the most authentic way. It’s like a movie.” If this album was like a movie, then it was a very high-budget, low-substance type of movie; the kind where you put all the young Hollywood big names in a superficial storyline to get the teeny-boppers into the cinemas. The accompanying album photos, of Rihanna in various forms of violent erotica, cements efforts to appeal to a general populace who have been conditioned to find such ‘controversial’ images alluring.

The only song which sounded like it had any real, genuine, untainted emotion was ‘The Last Song’, the final track of the album. This song was perhaps the saving grace of the record. The chorus asks, “What if you wasted love and all of our time disappeared? And this sad song ends up being the last song you’ll ever hear?” It really did capture the emotional despair and regret of a love gone wrong.

Overall though, it is apparent that, other than being a weak expression of Rihanna’s psyche, the album’s main goal is really about selling records and captialising on her very public and personal break up with Chris Brown. Because in terms of harnessing such a traumatic experience into something artistic, ie. an artistic response, this album fails. It’s too polished, prescribed, and typical of ‘personal’ albums that still want to sound ‘pretty’ in order to sell. Compare this with Kanye West’s ‘808s’, where the artist was not afraid to channel his anger, frustration and overwhelming sense of loss into something confronting, uncomfortable and down-right ugly. That was a real, authentic, poetic response. Rihanna’s was simply amateur storytelling. [Image from http://rashaentertainment.com/]

Usher - Raymond vs. Raymond

Usher’s new album ‘Raymond vs. Raymond’ is fine. Yep, just fine. If this album was released, say, ten years ago, it may have been described in more complimentary terms, but now, it’s just fine. At this point, I do have to acknowledge that it debuted at number 1 in the U.S. charts, but of course, I’m usually a little more judgemental than your average consumer.

Basically, this album sounds a lot like his last four. It reeks of the over-sexualised narcissism that has come to characterise Usher’s public persona and his music. This may have been different and new in ‘My Way’, his first record in 1997, but after four albums it’s tiring, trite, contrived and of course fully predictable.

The album is formulaic and uninspiring, as Usher continues to sing about the same subjects he did 13 years ago, with lyrics such as “I’m not a player, I’m a pro” and “I’m guilty ‘cause girls always wanna show me love.” Puh-leese Usher, we all know you know you’re hot, you’ve told us continually. How about telling us something new? Not only that, but such eye-rolling lyrics are sung in the same manner and style, and to basically the same beats as those of the past – there’s no evidence of artistic maturity or development, it’s simply static. There’s nothing wrong with singing about sex – it’s ever-present in our overly-saturated pop culture, but since it is so ubiquitous, an artist of Usher’s supposed calibre should be attempting to explore it with more originality.

Granted, if one were to stick this album on in a club full of half drunken 20-somethings, no one would leave the dance floor. Of course, they would also just continue in the same generic head bopping and body grinding as they would do with any other song. It’s just fine.

The one exception to this is ‘OMG’, Usher’s collaboration with Will.I.Am, which is the debut single from the album and is currently all over the radio. It is a great song, with the kind of freshness and funk that has come to be expected of Will.I.Am. The beat is Black Eyed Peas-esque, but unique enough to stand on its own as a great beat accompanied by some pretty good lyrics.

Usher is a great singer; his vocals are awesome, which is probably what has sustained him for so long. But his lyrics and song style in general have been exhausted. It was time to try something new two years ago. Maybe he’ll finally work up the courage and creativity to go outside his own status quo for the next album. [Image from http://agentsmithfiles.wordpress.com/category/usher/]

The Auto-Tune Debate - Is it Cheating? by Pappa G, Krucial Komposers

Here's another perspective on the auto-tune debate from a more informed source than myself. http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=491728499&blogId=533771242

Brian McFadden - Just Say So

Brian McFadden’s new song, ‘Just Say So’ is a great example of so many things that are wrong with pop music today. This is where the distinction between real musical artists and mindless vehicles of mass distribution is made.

First of all, the crappy and annoying dance/pop beat and the uninspired lyrics are modelled on nothing more than the myriad of cookie-cutter pop songs made to appeal to the masses without any attempt at something different or fresh. Not to mention the terrible ‘singing’. Every time I hear this song, before screaming and quickly switching off the radio, I get visual flashes of a really tacky Euro-pop or Asian-pop song where the singer, all dressed in white, lip-syncs and sways non-rhythmically against a backdrop of strobes and disco lights. The image is disconcerting to say the least.

What’s worse, though, is that McFadden’s song makes auto-tune look like the lazy man’s singing. His overuse of the newest innovation in music demonstrates that just because it’s new and available, not every ‘singer’ can or should use auto-tune. It still takes skill to properly distort one’s voice in this abstract manner and come away with something that doesn’t sound like a whining dog. Here, McFadden has somehow managed to use auto-tune to go back in time. This song is nothing more than a badly made 90s-type boy band song. McFadden used to be in a boy band, which obviously didn’t work out, so why he would be trying to relive this ill-fated path in what should be a solo direction, I have no idea.

The song is also a good example of the difference between skill and talent. Just because one can sing, doesn’t mean they’re an artist. Art isn’t just about having the skill, it’s more about having the originality and audacity to harness that skill to create something different, new, challenging, exciting; not to REcreate something that someone else has done before, and done better. McFadden has just badly copied the innovations in auto-tune and given its critics another reason to hate it. Just in case anybody is unclear, this is what you should NOT do with auto-tune. [Image from http://www.posh24.com/]

Kid Cudi - Man on the Moon: the End of Day

Kid Cudi’s debut album, ‘Man on the Moon: the End of Day’ jumps straight into the deep, introverted, self-reflexiveness that makes this more than just another RnB record. The chorus of the first track begins with the line, “I’ve got some issues that nobody can see, and all of these emotions are pouring out of me...this is the soundtrack to my life.” This life apparently includes the co-existence of ‘Scotty’ the person and his alter ego Kid Cudi the artist. Both personalities are present in this album which combines a diverse range of hip hop and Rnb beats with the kind of clever lyricism that is akin to poetry and doesn’t resort to the lowest common denominator that has become typical, and let’s face it – tiresome, of this genre of music.

For instance, even though he raps about the ubiquitous topic of sex, the lyrics are neither basic nor two-dimensionally derogatory; instead, sex is explored and discussed in a stylistically sophisticated, yet un-esoteric, manner. This approach is accompanied by some very clever double-entendres, and well-placed pop cultural allusions. One of my favourites of this is, “I’ve got 99 problems, and they all bitches...” ‘Make Her Say’, a good example, is a collaboration with Kanye West and Common, with Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’ in the background, which explores the pursuit of women in this more subtle and humorous way. The song, believe it or not, actually has layers.

Kid Cudi also comments on the clichéd/stereotypical rap culture, neither denouncing nor glorifying it, but rather acknowledging that he is both inside and outside this controversial environment. He also acknowledges its very real effects on both his creative and personal psyches – as he is trying to “find peace somewhere.”

Of course, all the subject matter of this record is not deeply autobiographical. In fact, some of my favourite songs are a partnering of great, unique-sounding beats with some more light-hearted topics. One is ‘Day N Night’, a song about a “lonely stoner” rapped to a really funky beat. Another good one is ‘Hyerr’, an unconventional slow-jam about a familiar first love –weed.

Considering this is his debut, Kid Cudi’s album has the stylistic sophistication and depth of meaning that is expected from someone more mature and experienced. This record reflects the potential for this genre of music to be so much more than what many of its ‘artists’ are lowering it to, and what many of its critics have come to expect –the overly-sexualised, highly violent and basically unintelligent crap that appeals to the lowest common denominator in not only subject matter, but audience alike. Kid Cudi’s album not only has great beats and doesn’t ‘dumb down’ its contents, it also realises a more intelligent audience who can appreciate the multi-layered character that hip hop/RnB music can be. [Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kid_Cudi]

Revolutionary Road

This is one movie I can’t make up my mind about. I don’t like it and I don’t completely dislike it, but there’s something about it that is not letting me write it off as just another mediocre movie that I have nothing to say about. It’s been in the back of my mind for two weeks now.

The story behind ‘Revolutionary Road’ is different – something that hasn’t been explored before, that I know of. It follows the mundane and compromised life of an average 1950s suburban couple who had dreams of so much more. But due to, what seems to be the ubiquitous catalyst for compromise, the arrival of children, Frank and April Wheeler find themselves living the stereotyped American nuclear family story. As the suppressed housewife, April, played by Kate Winslet, devises a plan for the couple and their two children to move to Paris and live a more interesting and exciting life. Frank, Leonardo DiCaprio, reluctantly agrees and things seem to become more promising for the family, until the arrival of another compromise – April is expecting another baby. From here, the trappings of comfort, stability and a steady pay cheque become too tempting and secure for Frank to turn his back on, and so their hopes, again, are dashed. April quickly spirals into a well of depression, trapped and overwhelmed by the inescapability of her monotonous and sole-destroying situation.

Though it is an interesting concept to explore, the movie didn’t seem to delve far enough into the psyches of the characters in order for us to empathise with them. Particularly in the character of April, one wonders why she is so unhappy – more so than any housewife at the time may have been – and why she goes to such drastic measures to escape her miserable existence. Though it is entirely plausible for a woman to have felt as trapped and isolated as April did, the movie itself did not facilitate the psychological connection between her situation and her mindset. This is just one example in what I would call a dramatically ambiguous movie. It felt as though director Sam Mendes took the audience to a certain point in the sporadic and abruptly-arrived-at dramatic moments, but wasn’t able to take us all the way to the peak of these moments – something was definitely lacking.

And yet, there was still something about the movie which I found intriguing. Perhaps it is the steady downward spiral of April, or the parallel settlement into complacency that her husband takes as they both fail to take charge of the circumstances in which they find themselves. Or the way in which such a story has relevance and familiarity to many who still feel the pressures of family life and the continued compromises this demands.

This is why I can’t figure out this movie – its ambiguity has cast a shroud of indecision over my judgement. Perhaps if anyone else out there has seen it, and has more of a solid opinion, you can cast some light on this movie for me. [Image from http://reeldebate.wordpress.com/2009/10/]

Fantastic Mr. Fox

The movie ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’ is a case in point of how screenwriters will often take a classic story, written by one of the great storytellers of all time, and shat all over it in some feeble attempt at ‘revisionism’. In this case, the creators seem to have gone that one step further, and have revised Roald Dahl’s classic in the name of (post)modernising the story for a contemporary audience. Well it didn’t work. The postmodernising of the story which I refer to came in many forms, in fact, the movie was saturated with these ill-conceived notions of social commentary. From the weak existential moments, as Mr. Fox questions his fox-ness, to failed commentaries on consumer culture, and finally to the lame attempts at demonstrating swearing by replacing swear words with the word ‘Cuss’ – obviously some obnoxious comment on the amount of verbal violence in the media today – the whole film came off as nothing more than a try-hard pastiche, stripping the story of its original innocence.

In fact, it was insulting and uncomfortable to watch as one of my favourite childhood characters went from sly, clever but altogether loveable fox, to obnoxious, self-centred, and overly-ambitious for no other reason than self-gratification fox with Clooney’s voice. Even more vexing is the fact that way too many other scenarios/events/things in general were unnecessarily added to the story. The confusion caused by this was exacerbated by jerky camera work, too-quick dialogue, and an overall speed of unfolding action which doesn’t allow for the audience to have any time to actually empathise with the characters. This inevitably made them simply annoying and two dimensional.

I don’t understand why people will massacre such a great work. Obviously the original story is good, otherwise why would anyone get any funding to turn it into a film? So why, why would the same people who agree (and probably fight) to get the story retold on screen then turn around and, for lack of a better term, fuck with it? It makes no sense to me. And this time, it was extremely personal to me because, one, Roald Dahl is still one of my favourite authors, and two, ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’ was one of my favourite childhood stories, I must have read it about five times. I’m probably not the only one who has such fond associations with this book, and hence I’m probably not the only one who is insulted, embittered and altogether pissed off at yet another Hollywood fail which has slaughtered another classic children’s story through some intellectually snobbish, yet altogether wrong, attempt at ‘revisionism’. For those of you who haven’t subjected your kids to this try-hard movie yet, don’t. Stick to the book, it’s way better.

Sixth Asia Pacific Triennial

Yet another success, the sixth Asia Pacific Triennial in Brisbane has again brought together a diversity of artists throughout the region to showcase what is contemporary, inspiring, conflicting and breathtaking in art. This time the Gallery of Modern Art and the Queensland Art Gallery’s water mall were completely given to the event, which added to its scale and success. By giving over 100 artists all that space organisers of the APT ensured that each artist and their work were given sufficient breathing room, which they appear to have taken in earnest. With works ranging from the monumental, such as New Zealand artist Reuben Paterson’s huge glitter and paint on canvas, to a tiny hole-in-the-wall video that you have to bend to see, the walls and floors of the GoMA were enveloped by some of the most compelling works I’ve ever seen.

One of my favourites is Tibetan artist Gonkar Gyatso’s sticker works; the biggest being a large image of Buddah reclining on a pencil-drawn railway from Shangai to Lhasa. Evoking, what I believe to be, a Monet-sensibility Gyatso’s Buddha appears as a seamless whole image until one gets up close and is inundated by a barrage of mass-media images on stickers. And then comes the realisation that this beautiful reclining Buddha is made entirely out of stickers of Hello Kitty, the ubiquitous McDonalds, Chinese Communism, etc, etc, etc.

Also note-worthy is Iranian artist Monir Shahroudy Farmanfarmaian’s exquisite ‘Lightning for Neda’ – six large mirror mosaic panels inspired by Islamic patterns and Sufi symbolism. To look at this work is to not only be awestruck by the delicate intricacies of the way in which the shards of mirror have been ingeniously patterned; rather, to look at this work is to also look upon your own image – jarred, disfigured and disjointed, reflected back at you.

Finally, one work in which I took great enjoyment was Shinji Ohmaki’s ‘Liminal air – descend’, an interactive installation which included the arrangement of a mass of threads into a fluid form in a single white room with a mirrored wall. The audience was invited to walk through this form which was supposed to “produce dramatic, immersive encounters.” For me personally, walking through this endless curtain of white string just took me to a magical place – it reminded me of those enchanting scenes in movies where the girl walks through a heavily-leafed forest or a succession of those psychedelic beaded curtains and has something revealed to her at the end of that short journey. It’s hard to explain, but needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

I could go on for several more paragraphs just about the amazing works I saw, but I shan’t. Overall the APT should be commended not only for its diverse, eclectic and inspiring selection of artists and artworks – covering a wide range of countries and media – but also for the way in which the exhibition itself has been curated and put together. To be able to arrange that many works in that large a space without, on the one hand, the appearance of having just put stuff wherever there’s room, and on the other, overwhelming the audience is a monumental task. According to me, it has been achieved with dignity and inventiveness. I can’t wait for APT7! [Image from gonkargyatso.com]

Take your time - Olafur Eliasson

More than just what curator Rachel Kent calls a “visual journey”, ‘Take your time: Olafur Eliasson’ is an exploration into and manipulation of ways of seeing. The manipulation begins early, in a room situated to the side of the exhibition’s entrance, which bathes the viewer in a jarring yellow glow emitted from a succession of lights placed in the ceiling. The visual effect of this single work remains as a “retinal after-effect” (Kent, MCA) which causes a subtle disorientation which, for me, did not go away until well after I left the MCA.

Eliasson’s exhibition, as suggested by its title and manifested in the arrangement of works, encourages the audience to carefully and methodically explore the kaleidoscope of the artist’s body of work – which ranges from simple “chromatic investigations” (Kent) on large paper, to photographs, sculptures and intricate and interactive installations which encompass an entire room. One such work is ‘Beauty’, which consists of a light mist of water coming from the ceiling, a single spotlight and a dark room. As the rays of the spotlight shine on the delicately falling mist, they bounce off the water particles to create a rainbow sequence which, for every viewer, is unique depending on all those subtle contingencies which make every experience slightly different.

Another impressive work is the ‘360° room for all colours’ which, as the title suggests, encompasses the viewer in a large enclosure of continually-changing hues. One is engulfed, bathed in the visual sensuality of colour. Another similar work is ‘One-way colour tunnel’ an arrangement of colour-effect acrylic and mirrors which bounce reflections, colour and light from all sides as you walk through. It is quite literally a kaleidoscope walk-way. Both works are magnificent!

These are only three of the 30 works displayed in the exhibition. Aside from the theoretical/academic investigations into ways of seeing, and the continued debate surrounding the way audience participation shapes and transforms a work, Elisasson’s works are simply great to look at and look through. They achieve that rare quality of good art which can be experienced at different levels – from the simply visual, to the potently theoretical – without bombarding the audience with esotericism, but instead allowing them to simply feel. [Image from http://www.mca.com.au/]

Mamma Mia

‘Mamma Mia’ the movie is nothing more than a high-budget song-and-dance routine that has nothing to offer, and nothing meaningful to say (or sing). Not only did I have to sit through Pierce Brosnan’s terrible ‘singing’, and Christine Baranski and Julie Waters’ cringe-worthy displays of stunted adolescence, there was also Amanda Seyfried’s over-over acting to contend with. Yes, there is such a thing, the experience of which leaves one exhausted, uncomfortable and feeling slightly ripped-off for having to watch a performance that was simply trying too hard without actually achieving anything. Such is the case with Seyfried who plays the naive, soon-to-be-married Sophie who sets out to discover who her real father is so that he can walk her down the aisle. Her face literally goes red as a tomato during the over-over acting of a ‘confrontation scene’ that, in any other half-decent movie, would have been nothing more than a heated discussion.

Try-hard acting and terrible vocals aside, the actual movie adaptation of the Broadway musical added nothing to the original show. Though I have not watched the musical myself, the movie played like a direct copy of a live performance – just stick these people on a stage and nothing would have been different. This may be sufficient for some viewers, but to my understanding one of the purposes of adapting a story from one format to another is to add something new to the narrative – another element, a deeper layer of meaning, another way of seeing the story even. Otherwise, what’s the point? Nothing of the sort was achieved in this movie. The performances were shallow, the characters were shallow, the storyline was shallow. The only depth was in the ocean surrounding the Greek island setting.

The single saving grace of the film is Meryl Streep, whose role as mother-of-the-bride Donna was engaging, sincere and humorous without the pitfalls of amateur try-hard acting. Streep’s climactic solo, singing ‘The Winner Takes It All’, was superb and is the only moment of dignity in an otherwise obnoxiously-melodramatic film. That was two hours that would have been better spent playing Scrabble, which at least would have required some depth of thought.