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  • Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret: Why Judy Blume’s taboo-breaking books ‘get’ teenagers like no others

    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret: Why Judy Blume’s taboo-breaking books ‘get’ teenagers like no others

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    “We’ve always looked to her as somebody who could speak out on these issues and be listened to,” says Chris Finan, executive director of the NCAC. It’s important to remember, he says, that all the attacks against her books ultimately failed. Her books became bestsellers. “No one was writing about this stuff at the time. There was this huge demand and thirst for this information.”

    “She won that battle which encourages us to believe that these current battles will also be won,” he says, in reference to conservative attacks on books about LGBTQ issues. 

    Only recently, Blume affirmed her allyship with the trans community. “Anything to the contrary is total bullshit,” she said in a statement following an interview with The Times, which was headlined: Judy Blume: ‘I’m behind JK Rowling 100 per cent’, and had sparked controversy online.

    Worthington and Michael think Blume’s books remain so popular in part because the kids who grew up on them now have children and even grandchildren of their own. “If you read a book together with your kid, it’s an opportunity to have conversations and bond and grow closer,” says Michael. 

    That’s only one factor, though. The books, while rooted in the time they were written, have a timeless quality because the things teenagers worry about are largely the same and few writers understand that the way Blume does. For the podcast, Michael and Worthington have read a lot of what they call “Judy-adjacent” books, but nothing quite matches up. “Judy has this special connection to the inner thoughts of children and teens,” says Michael. “She remembers what it feels like, in a way that I just don’t think a lot of writers can do.”

    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret is in cinemas in the US now, and in the UK from 19 May. Judy Blume Forever is on Amazon Prime Video now.

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  • Five of the most striking home exteriors

    Five of the most striking home exteriors

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    “In general, most people want to live in areas with like-minded people,” says Justine Fox, a colour design expert and founder of Studio Justine Fox. Famous examples of polychrome rows of terraces can be found in Notting Hill Gate and Kentish Town in London, Cliftonwood and other areas of Bristol, New Quay in West Wales and Broadstairs in Kent. However, some neighbourhoods that appear to welcome a broad spectrum of colours tend to limit these to pretty, cheerful and conventionally picturesque ones. “Even in areas where a lot of colour is welcomed, there’s a certain conformity in the types of colours used and deemed tasteful,” says Fox.

    The perfect palette

    Adhering to established, inflexible colour palettes in urban communities, however wide the choice of colours permitted, doesn’t benefit residents: “Many cities, particularly European ones such as Stockholm and Turin, have clearly defined colour plans to preserve their cultural identity but these don’t really represent or address changing demographics or societal needs. I think there’s always this tension between traditionalists and futurists.”  

    Traditions in favoured palettes vary from one city or even continent to another, Fox elaborates. “Cool floral pastels and seaside blues are often the norm in the UK, while in Mexican towns and cities you often encounter flaming oranges, yellows, reds and pinks.” The external walls of Mexican modernist architect Luis Barragan’s house Casa Gilardi combine hot pink and a lavender shade inspired by a jacaranda tree on the site. His style went on to influence many Mexican architects, including his protégé Ricardo Legorreta.

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  • Polite Society review: This explosive, action-packed delight recalls Scott Pilgrim, Kill Bill, Get Out and The Matrix

    Polite Society review: This explosive, action-packed delight recalls Scott Pilgrim, Kill Bill, Get Out and The Matrix

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    Among other things, Polite Society is also a coming-of-age story. Ria is a teenager. She can be brash and immature. At one point, unable to find any dirt on Salim, she tries to frame him for philandering by planting condoms filled with hand lotion. She is also an entertainingly unreliable narrator. The film leans into this aspect, playing up the melodrama and heightened stakes with overdramatic stare downs and fantastical action sequences which see her battle a slew of opponents such as her school bully, sadistic beauticians, disapproving aunties and her sister’s future mother-in-law. Underneath it all, though, she also has an optimism and zest for life that shines through in her unwavering quest to become a stuntperson and one-sided correspondence with her idol (real-life British stuntwoman Eunice Huthart).

    Dreams are a very significant theme in the movie. The Khan sisters are at odds because, unlike Ria, Lena has decided to abandon her dream of becoming an artist. It could be argued that the fact Lena is lost and consumed with self-doubt makes her easier prey for Salim and his mother who, it transpires, do have malicious intent. Ria certainly thinks so. Raheela, on the other hand, dreams of a do-over for herself to live a life where she wasn’t held back by the patriarchy and achieved her true potential. The director successfully juxtaposes Ria and Raheela, the protagonist and antagonist; one still possessing a youthful exuberance, while the other is embittered and resentful. Ria dismisses Raheela’s assertion that they are both alike, but it isn’t difficult to imagine the teenage heroine being forced down a similar path to her nemesis, should society keep pushing her down. 

    Indeed, in a film about smashing the patriarchy, Raheela makes for a fascinating villain. Manzoor has fun with the concept of a matriarch upholding the patriarchy. On the surface, the character has liberal views that set her apart from other more conservative minded women in the South Asian community. For example, she has no issues with her future daughter in law sleeping over at their place before marriage. “We women shouldn’t have to hide our bodies,” she preaches to Salim and Lena at one point. Yet, without giving too much away, she has no qualms about using another woman’s body without consent to achieve her goals.

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  • Guy Ritchie’s The Covenant and why Hollywood is afraid of the war in Afghanistan

    Guy Ritchie’s The Covenant and why Hollywood is afraid of the war in Afghanistan

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    She says of mainstream US films about her country, “Afghanistan, for famous directors with Hollywood budgets, is a story from behind the mountain, which is exotic, interesting, but it is not authentic.” She adds: “It is a very Western perspective about what was going on in Afghanistan, where somebody is going to save the interpreter or something. There are lots of things Afghan people and their stories can share with the world, without going into this victim and saviour formula.”  

    Lack of distribution for modest foreign-language films can make them seem almost invisible, though. Karimi’s films, including her documentary Afghan Women Behind the Wheel (2009) are not available to stream. Neither is the highly regarded A Letter to the President (2003) by another Afghan woman director, Roya Sadat. They are squeezed out by movies with explosions and brave male soldiers, with their long history of commercial success.

    One thing for sure is that there will be more mainstream films about Afghanistan on their way. Thomson calls the video from Kabul airport a moment of “incredible cinematic imagery, people falling off planes.” Already used in documentaries, those images are ready-made for the next – let’s hope for deeper – generation of war movies.

    Guys Ritchie’s The Covenant is out in US cinemas now

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  • Earth Day and the ‘new Big 5’: 11 moving photos of vanishing wildlife

    Earth Day and the ‘new Big 5’: 11 moving photos of vanishing wildlife

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    Despite the urgency of the crisis, there are reasons for hope. Green recalls how in recent decades, two communities whose stories he covered as a journalist – in the Peruvian Amazon and in Chile’s Aysén region – successfully fought off plans by energy companies to construct dams that would have flooded hundreds of square miles of land, displacing people and wildlife.

    As Green writes in The New Big 5, “Commercial whaling wiped out 2 million whales in the 19th and 20th Centuries, but, since whaling was banned in 1986, humpback whale populations have recovered in the South Atlantic ocean from just 440 in the 1950s to 25,000 today. West African giraffes plummeted to near-extinction, just 49 left, before Niger’s government and communities rallied. They’re now standing tall at around 600. Siberian tigers, Jamaican rock iguanas, Checkered skipper butterflies, Nassau groupers, sea otters, and Hula painted frogs are among the many other species saved from extinction by people taking action.”

    The photos in the book help to reinforce the connection between humans and all wildlife. “Every creature deserves to exist,” writes Green. “From bees to blue whales, from tigers to termites, all wildlife is essential to the balance of nature, to healthy ecosystems, and to the future of life on our planet.”

    The New Big 5: A Global Photography Project For Endangered Wildlife by Graeme Green is out now (Earth Aware Editions), with a foreword by Paula Kahumbu and an afterword by Jane Goodall.

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  • Joaquin Phoenix in Ari Aster’s Beau Is Afraid: ‘The most bizarre film of the year’

    Joaquin Phoenix in Ari Aster’s Beau Is Afraid: ‘The most bizarre film of the year’

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    Not that this is the only one of his issues that gets an airing. By the end of the film, Aster has abandoned any pretence of telling a straightforward story, preferring, it seems, to write down all of his darkest, most intimate fears and fantasies about sex, illness, parenthood, money, society and death, and then present them as a kaleidoscopic collage of sitcom, cartoon, crime thriller, monster movie and science-fiction odyssey. The result seems nakedly personal while echoing the comic invention of Woody Allen’s early films, the formal precision of Stanley Kubrick, and the bleak, deadpan surrealism of Roy Andersson, with bits of Charlie Kaufman and David Cronenberg thrown in.

    Viewers are sure to be impressed by Aster’s prodigious imagination and technical skill, amused by his gallows humour, and amazed by some of the outrageous images he puts on screen. But whether they will be enthralled by the film is another matter. It’s clear from the start that Beau Is Afraid is set in a heightened alternate reality where our rules don’t apply, and the impression that none of it has any internal logic or tangible consequences can leave you feeling as if somebody is recounting a weird dream they’ve had – and doing so for three long hours. Throughout those three hours, the mewling Phoenix doesn’t convey much more than the abject sadness and self-pity that drip from him in the film’s opening minutes, and the episodic structure means that while each segment is fascinating in its own right, they don’t together contribute anything essential to the narrative. If Aster had simply chopped out the second of the film’s three hours, it might have been more coherent, not less.

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  • 12 of the best books of the year so far 2023

    12 of the best books of the year so far 2023

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    The Survivalists by Kashnana Cauley

    In the Survivalists, Aretha, a lawyer, moves in with her coffee-entrepreneur boyfriend, Aaron, and his doomsday-prepping housemates. What follows is a half-joking exploration of capitalism, gun ownership, and what it takes to survive in the modern world as a black American. “Learn her name, because Cauley is one of the funniest writers at work today, period,” says the Los Angeles Times. Vulture agrees, describing Cauley as “one of the smartest and funniest writers working today, and this novel is a chance for fans to spend even more time with her cutting critiques of the flaws in American culture.” (LB)

    Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin

    Based on her own mother’s story, and interweaving real historical events with fiction, Cecile Pin’s debut novel begins in 1978, three years after the last US troops have left Vietnam. Young orphan siblings Anh, Thanh and Minh flee their village, first to Hong Kong, making their way as refugees towards the uninviting landscape of Thatcher’s Britain. Their journey is accompanied by the voice of their younger brother, Dao, a lost soul who speaks from the hinterland between the dead and the living. Wandering Souls is “subtle and gripping”, writes the LA Times, while the iNewspaper says: “this is a powerful and timely debut about seeking asylum; about what life is when it is ripped from its origins, and how happiness and identity can be found again on foreign shores.” (RL)

    The Garnett Girls by Georgina Moore

    Set on the UK’s Isle of Wight in a beloved but crumbling family home, Sandcove, three very different sisters and their unconventional mother tackle life and long-held family secrets. The Sunday Times best-selling debut novel by Georgina Moore explores whether or not children can ever truly be free of the mistakes their parents make. “Each of the main characters is flawed yet relatable,” says The Independent, “and the family dynamics between the strong women are portrayed perfectly by Moore. An immersive novel which leaves the reader feeling they have become part of the family.” It’s a confident debut, according to The Observer. “With Moore’s evocative prose it’s easy to see why The Garnett Girls is being likened to works by Penny Vincenzi.” (LB)

    Old Babes in the Wood by Margaret Atwood

    This 15-strong short-story collection is Atwood’s first publication since The Testaments. Divided into three parts, it is dedicated in part to Atwood’s partner, Graeme Gibson, who died in 2019; scenes from the marriage of Tig and Nell sandwich a disparate bunch of tales that encompass everything from aliens to pandemics. Old Babes in the Wood is “a gripping read,” writes the FT, which highlights “themes that are always at the heart of Atwood’s work: the haunting presence of traumatic histories, profound imbalances of power and opportunity in the world today, and society’s darkest possible futures”. The Guardian says: “There are chips and fragments of lives, full of sass and sadness”. (RL)

    Old God’s Time by Sebastian Barry

    When he’s faced with the past he would prefer to forget, retired policeman Tom’s life is thrown into further confusion. In the Irish author’s ninth novel, Barry explores how the effects of violence and abuse reverberate across generations. Old God’s Time is a “reckoning with violated innocence,” says the Irish Independent. “The familiar story of the crimes of church and state is told in a fresh and spectacular way.” Meanwhile, iNews describes the book as a “profound state-of-Ireland novel”. Barry, it says, is “a master storyteller… exploring the fluid border between the real and the unreal, and its relation to trauma”. (LB)

    This Other Eden by Paul Harding

    This is New Englander Harding’s third novel: following Enon (2013) and his 2009 debut, Tinkers, for which he won the Pulitzer Prize. It is in This Other Eden, though, “that Harding’s gifts have found their fullest expression”, writes The Observer, praising “the depth of Harding’s sentences, their breathless angelic light.” Inspired by historical events, the story is set on Apple Island in early-20th Century Maine, which the mixed-race Honey family have called home for generations, until they are abruptly cast off the island. This Other Eden, writes The New York Times, is “a novel that is both devastating and meditative.” (RL)

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  • Apple TV+’s Drops of God: A ‘hugely entertaining’ thriller about… French wine-tasting, based on a Japanese manga series

    Apple TV+’s Drops of God: A ‘hugely entertaining’ thriller about… French wine-tasting, based on a Japanese manga series

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    The show, written by Quoc Dang Tran, a Vietnamese-French writer who has worked on such French smash hits as Call My Agent! and The Bureau, manages to imbue the wine-tasting scenes with the tension of a thriller. There’s a particularly fun sequence shot like a caper movie in which Camille has to pose as a restaurant sommelier in order to get just a sniff of a particularly rare wine that a wealthy diner has bought.

    But the family drama is just as gripping as we learn, for example, through flashbacks why Camille has such an aversion to alcohol, and why Issei’s mother seems so cold and distant.

    The depiction of the two principal characters almost leans into national stereotypes. Redheaded Camille is passionate, impulsive, sweary. Issei is reserved, formal and analytical. But as the series progresses, we discover they have much in common.

    The two actors playing them are not hugely well known beyond their native France and Japan but with Drops of God have done their international job prospects no harm at all. Geffrier, who looks as though she’s stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, is a magnetic lead. She has dialogue in three languages – French, English and Japanese – and pulls it off with elan. Yamashita, already idolised in Japan, where he is known as a singer, dancer and presenter as well as an actor, is a charismatic presence. They both have cheekbones sharp enough to peel a grape with.

    Drops of God looks beautiful too. Tokyo is presented in steely blues and greys. Provence is bathed in golden sunshine, except for the occasional dramatic storm. Provençal tourism chiefs don’t need any help selling their region but will surely be rubbing their hands in glee at this.

    So will winemakers. Listening to the characters discuss wine and the wine-making process with such enthusiasm, and hearing them describe incredible wines so vividly, may well make you want to drink them. The show has been distilled from a bestselling 44-volume Japanese manga series of the same name which began in 2004, created by a brother-and-sister team, Shin and Yuko Kibayashi. The series is famous for its impact on the East Asian wine market, significantly boosting the sale of wines mentioned in the story. 

    It more than doubled wine sales in Japan in the first year it was published. In July 2009, the British wine magazine Decanter placed the Kibayashis at Number 50 on its list of the wine world’s most influential people, remarking that Drops of God “is arguably the most influential wine publication for the past 20 years”. One French winemaker withdrew a wine of his from the market after it was mentioned in order to prevent its price from rocketing. The wines in the TV series, which has changed several aspects of the manga’s story, are a mixture of real and fictional but if you happen to have a few cases of, say, Château Cheval Blanc 2000 lying around in your cellar, you may want to hang on to them for a while.

    One of the many charms of the show is that even if, like me, your previous knowledge of wine essentially amounts to being able to visually distinguish between red and white, you feel as if you are being infused with expertise as you watch. I finished the series regretting the life choices that mean I’m not running a wine domaine in glorious southeastern France but consoling myself that should a head sommelier position become vacant at a Michelin-starred restaurant, I could have a reasonable shot at it.

    ★★★★☆

    The first two episodes of Drops of God are on Apple TV + from April 21; new episodes are released weekly.

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  • Ganja & Hess: The 50-year-old vampire movie masterpiece critics got all wrong

    Ganja & Hess: The 50-year-old vampire movie masterpiece critics got all wrong

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    Clarke’s role as Ganja is for Weston, the film’s most potent element. “In her autonomy, [Clark] is one of the major things that sets this film apart from its peers of the time. In the era of blaxploitation, black women don’t get the best representation, shall we say. Their roles can be quite stifling but her performance and her character is given so much richness. She’s such an alive figure, and that’s really rare.”

    Watching Ganja & Hess is like listening to an expertly conducted orchestra. Gunn pulls from the distinct talents of each member of his ensemble and across arthouse, horror, blaxploitation and beyond to create a unique sensibility that is heart-stoppingly gorgeous. From the moment when Ganja and Hess marry, their union juxtaposed with symbols of Christianity and African spirituality, to the scene when Hess lovingly curses her with the same vampiric affliction that has transformed him, each frame radiates with meaning and is carefully composed like a Baroque oil painting. Amid the haziness of the 16mm cinematography, black skin lightly shimmers and crimson blood is preternaturally vivid. It’s sexy, confounding and deeply moving, and watching it, it seems to enter your bloodstream, moving gently through you and leaving you indelibly marked by all the beauty and despair Gunn sees in the world.

    From rapture to derision

    The film became the only US film selected for the 1973 Cannes Film Festival’s Critics Week and reportedly received a rapturous reception. While sincere enthusiasm is often hard to measure at a place like Cannes, where standing ovations are de rigueur, Forster says there was no denying that “Gunn was – as with many black artists of the mid-century like Richard Wright, Chester Himes or even James Baldwin to an extent – better recognised by a French audience than the predominantly white American audience. I do think that [the story of its reception] at Cannes might be somewhat exaggerated. But what exists now is French scholars and critics writing in French journals, celebrating the film or celebrating Gunn.”

    What is beyond doubt is just how poorly the film was then treated when it came back to the US. It premiered at New York’s Playboy Theatre and was derided by the critical establishment. Bad reviews led to bad box office and Kelly-Jordan Enterprises scrambled to recoup what they could, selling the rights to grindhouse company Heritage Pictures who put out a new version, substantially cutting it while including some additional footage and renaming it Blood Couple. Later, they labelled it with a whole host of titles including Black Evil, Black Vampire, Blackout: The Moment of Terror, Double Possession and Vampires of Harlem. Gunn wrote a damning indictment of his treatment in a now-famous open letter in The New York Times – the very paper that had described his film as “ineffectually arty”. Titled “To Be a Black Artist”, it is nearly as impressive a masterwork as the film itself.

    It begins “THERE are times when the white critic must sit down and listen. If he cannot listen and learn, then he must not concern himself with black creativity.” He goes on to point out how little care the critics put into their reviews, fumbling major plot points. He points out that not one of them mentioned Cannes and took pride in their fellow American’s recognition abroad, but he reserves particular vitriol for the fact that Marlene Clark, “one of the most beautiful women and actresses I have ever known, was referred to as ‘a brown-skinned looker’ (New York Post). That kind of disrespect could not have been cultivated in 110 minutes. It must have taken at least a good 250 years.”

    Gunn had his name removed from Blood Couple and the other butchered iterations of the film. A single print of Gunn’s original version of Ganja & Hess remained in existence; that was donated to New York’s Museum of Modern Art. With Gunn’s approval, it was screened there until its later restoration. In 2018, the distribution company Kino Lorber, The Museum and Martin Scorsese’s Film Foundation collaborated to restore and remaster it in HD from a 35mm negative, making it more available for a wider reappraisal as a triumph by one of the great African-American artists. In the subsequent years, it has continued to be screened in rep and made available on multiple streaming platforms.

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  • What The Last of Us, Snowpiercer and ‘climate fiction’ get wrong

    What The Last of Us, Snowpiercer and ‘climate fiction’ get wrong

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    Yet, his research does suggest that climate stories that employ a positive frame – particularly those that focus on resilience or innovation – might be able to inspire readers to act. He concedes that examples of non-dystopian climate fiction are few and far between, but he highlights Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior or Clara Hume’s Back to the Garden as promising examples. (To this I would also add stories like Rebecca Roanhorse’s Trail of Lightning, Becky Chambers’ A Psalm for the Wild-Built, Grist’s ongoing “Imagine 2200” project, or just about any novel by Kim Stanley Robinson).

    Schneider-Mayerson believes that climate fiction shouldn’t be the main focus of criticism. “The real problem is that the vast majority of fiction published today does not acknowledge the reality of climate change. Climate fiction is such a smaller portion of everything that’s being read today. It’s valid and valuable to criticise it and ask what it could be doing differently, but the bulk of criticism should go to non-climate fiction that portrays the natural world as a stable and reliable backdrop to human affairs,” he says. “The reality is that those works are essentially all fantasy now.”

    Every scholar I talk to holds out hope – some more, some less – that there are forms of environmental art that might succeed in shaping the public’s imagination for the better. But they are equally clear that “cli-fi” is certainly not the panacea that was promised, and that as long as it continues to operate in a mode of unremitting doom, it will never live up to its potential. Perhaps the first step toward a better climate fiction, then, is to stop clinging to the sort of magical thinking which holds that a novel can save the world; to be clear-eyed about what tangible impact we can expect from a paperback.

    Here, I am reminded of Socrates, who suggests in Plato’s Republic that there is no place for poets in a well-running city. Socrates’ quibbles with poetry are manifold, but the core of his objection is that literature confers on its audience the false sense of having taken real action – it provides readers with the feeling of war without the risk of combat, the feeling of love without the hazards of romance. That is, the problem with a certain kind of literature is that it gives us the sense that we have really done something noble, when in fact we have done nothing loftier than sit on the couch and read a book.

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  • The sleuths bringing back India’s stolen treasures

    The sleuths bringing back India’s stolen treasures

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    The Koh-i-Noor, first found in written records in 1628, has long been the subject of acrimony between India and its former coloniser, with a persistent demand by the Indian government and its citizens for its return. As this piece in India’s Mint newspaper explains bluntly, “The main controversy around the diamond is that the British give an impression to its younger generation that the Koh-i-Noor was a gift from India and make no official mention of the violent history behind acquiring it.”

    The renewed uproar about the Koh-i-Noor has also led to intensifying questioning of all the other resources – not just the sparkly stones –  taken away from the Global South by western powers over centuries of trading and ruling. “Wear the diamond, give back the rest,” suggests this op-ed piece in The Indian Express.

    Among the “rest” are priceless cultural artefacts – and this is what the India Pride Project concerns itself with. This citizen movement for the restitution of stolen and smuggled antiques (particularly statues) from public museums and private collectors across the world was started in 2013 by shipping executive S Vijay Kumar and public policy expert Anuraag Saxena from Singapore, although Kumar had already spent a decade helping to recover artefacts.

    These sleuths, with the help of a small, anonymous global team of volunteers from various fields – who communicate mostly online – have brought back to India several millions worth of antiquities from countries like Australia, Singapore, Germany, UK and the US. Most recently, they made the news when their efforts aided the investigation that prompted the National Gallery of Australia to return antiques worth $2.2 million – stolen by art smuggler Subash Kapoor – to the Indian government. Their targets include both artefacts taken forcibly out of India during the British colonial era, and those more recently stolen and smuggled from temples and public collections.

    How they go about their work

    Kumar, who is now based in Chennai in south India, and Saxena, who remains in Singapore, talk with ease about field trips to document missing idols and sting operations with auction houses. While the information about missing antiquities has always existed, what was lacking was official will to push for their return, they say. Kumar puts things in perspective: between 1970 to 2012, the Indian government managed to bring back 19 artefacts, while it has restituted 600 in just the last 10 years (with their help).

    This is not to suggest they are some kind of gung-ho art vigilante group, given the amount of plodding through paperwork and complex negotiation work they do. Their work involves advocacy, activism and coordinating between governments and law enforcement agencies such as Customs, Europol and Homeland Security within India and outside. Kumar says, “In the past when they reached out to India, nobody replied, so now we are doing that job.”

    “India Pride project is more of a network than an organisation – we have no money, no employees and no authority,” admits Saxena candidly, even a tad proudly. The entirely volunteer team monitors and flags suspicious objects by following paper trails and making personal visits to auction houses, art galleries and museums, and then liaises with official agencies to make the case for repatriation.

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  • Scott Covert: Why one artist has made it his life’s mission to hunt down dead celebrities

    Scott Covert: Why one artist has made it his life’s mission to hunt down dead celebrities

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    Pilgrimage often involves the creation of a personal map. Whether one is going in search of holy wells, cult film locations, rare birds, or feats of Victorian engineering, it provides a series of connecting threads that overlay the usual borders and terrains. One gets the sense that Covert’s whole world is oriented by cemeteries – each a beacon, its potential depending on who is buried there. It’s easier now in the days of Google Maps and online records, but graves used to be hard to locate. Covert tells me about how he met someone who became a dear friend graveside in Culver City, next to Rita Hayworth’s resting place. Part of the so-called Hollywood Underground, a loose group devoted to finding the graves of those celebrities whose whereabouts have been kept under wraps, he was an invaluable source of information.

    Although this might all sound rather macabre, there is a sprightly, curious quality to Covert’s work and attitude: a sense of single-minded devotion and obsession. He has been described as Warholian in his approach to pop culture and celebrity, but there is something immensely sincere to these paintings. Some of them might be naughty and others dark (he says that the graves of Perry Smith and Richard Hickock, convicted of the murders of the Clutter family and the focus of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, made him feel “repulsed”), but many are reverent – even loving. Covert says he developed his way of working because he wanted to make abstract paintings. A name is just another kind of mark – one in which “each brushstroke” holds a lifetime. It also becomes evidence of having been somewhere. The paintings themselves are maps. In being made, they prove that the maker travelled all that way, driving for 14 hours or getting on a plane, to get to that particular grave, and to the particular person it memorialises. It is, as another friend once pointed out to him, the opposite of graffiti. He does not leave his mark. Instead he diligently acquires it, amassing a series of numbers and letters summarising a whole history.

    The power of the gravestone

    In her book These Silent Mansions: A Lifetime in Graveyards, the poet Jean Sprackland writes about her own lack of interest in famous gravestones. Instead, she is drawn to “the unremarkable and forgotten, whose names can no longer be deciphered”. She likes them, she says, because they remind her of “the span of human life – how one may be longer than another but all are finite – and how I and everyone around me is part of the inescapable repeating pattern so explicitly demonstrated here.” There is something humbling in being in a graveyard, in being reminded of the fragility of life and the inevitability of death. Everything must come to an end, including us. British artist Nathan Coley’s 2010 work In Memory featured a series of gravestones that had, for a variety of mysterious reasons, been removed from the place they were intended to stand. On each, the name was chiselled out: a blank square in its place, leaving behind only messages of rest and loving memory. In their anonymity, they became something that could belong to anyone’s dear father or beloved wife. Unmoored from their specific commemorative function, they also morphed, according to the work’s accompanying notes, back into objects: shapes hewn and carved from stone or granite, rather than reminders of someone specific, a whole life compressed between two dates.

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  • Renfield is ‘a sloppy mess’ even though Nicolas Cage’s Dracula is a treat

    Renfield is ‘a sloppy mess’ even though Nicolas Cage’s Dracula is a treat

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    The criminal connection does have one positive effect on the story. It brings in Awkwafina, who is lively and comically baffled as Rebecca, a New Orleans police officer assigned to traffic duty but determined to bring down the Lobos. She and Renfield have a romantic spark, which leads to one of the more inspired satirical sequences. In a montage satirising a rom-com trope, Renfield gets his own bright new apartment, shops for clothes and turns up at the police station wearing a pastel colour-blocked sweater from Macy’s and holding a bouquet of flowers for Rebecca. If only the film had stayed on that track. What We Do in the Shadows, a similar tongue-in-cheek vampire story in both its film and television versions, works because it is committed to its mockumentary conceit, with characters convinced they are just ordinary people who happen to be bloodsuckers. But Renfield’s disparate crime-and-action segments, smacking of a cynical ploy for viewers, constantly pull us away from the only engaging storyline.

    Cage creates another vivid, witty character, channelling old movie Draculas from Bela Lugosi to Christopher Lee. The Count, soon restored to his normal greenish-white pallour, grins and shows rows of teeny little pointed teeth. He glides along with an air of entitlement, and in a rare, funny bit of dialogue, orders Renfield to find him “unsuspecting tourists, nuns, and a busload of cheerleaders”, whose pure blood will nourish him. (Dracula may not be so up-to-date on the supposed innocence of cheerleaders.) But this fun-to-watch vampire never stays on screen long enough to redeem the muddle of a film he’s trapped in. Renfield is worth watching for Cage, Hoult and Awkwafina’s entertaining performances, and not much more.

    ★★☆☆☆

    Renfield opens in cinemas in the US and UK on 14 April

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  • 8 of the best films of 2023 so far

    8 of the best films of 2023 so far

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    (Image credit: Lionsgate)

    BBC Culture film critics Nicholas Barber and Caryn James pick their highlights of the year so far, including John Wick: Chapter 4, Close, EO and Infinity Pool.

    (Credit: Alamy)

    1. Saint Omer

    This tough-minded, heart-breaking drama about race, class and motherhood was France’s entry to last year’s Oscar race, and I’m still mystified as to why it wasn’t nominated. Alice Diop puts her experience making documentaries to good use, as she bases her story on the real-life case of a young Senegalese woman in France charged with abandoning her baby on a beach to die. Diop invents Rama, a pregnant novelist who goes to the town of Saint Omer to witness the trial, which plays into her own doubts and fears. As Laurence, the mother on trial, Guslagie Malanda is unnaturally calm, almost frozen in resignation. Kayije Kagame as Rama lets you see her mind racing and her heart pounding as she watches, even though her face is impassive. Diop based her dialogue on court transcripts, but the results go far beyond dry facts on the page to create an enthralling film with two profound and vivid women on screen. (CJ)

    (Credit: Kris Dewitte Menuet/Cannes)

    (Credit: Kris Dewitte Menuet/Cannes)

    2. Close

    Lucas Dhont follows his award-winning debut, Girl, with another delicate yet emotionally shattering coming-of-age drama that is so naturalistic you could mistake it for a fly-on-the-wall documentary. Its heroes are Léo (Eden Dambrine) and Rémi (Gustav de Waele), two 13-year-old boys who enjoy an intimate friendship in bucolic Belgium. But when they enrol in a new school, peer pressure stretches their relationship to breaking point. Superhumanly sensitive to the pains of being a teenager, Dhont understands that it doesn’t take overt bullying to make young people feel as if they are under unbearable attack. The boys’ classmates’ casual questions are enough to change them forever. (NB)

    John Wick: Chapter 4 (Credit: Lionsgate)

    John Wick: Chapter 4 (Credit: Lionsgate)

    3. John Wick: Chapter 4

    The latest instalment of the artful action-filled franchise with Keanu Reeves as the assassin we root for has no competition for the year’s best mainstream, commercial film so far. With a multi-million-dollar price on his head, Wick channels his inner James Bond, globe-trotting through Paris, Berlin and Osaka, trying to avoid being killed. This entry is bigger and splashier than the previous Wick entries, and director Chad Stahelski makes it every bit as visually stunning and entertaining, with action full of martial arts, guns and swords. Reeves’ likeable persona helps attach us to a character who long ago lost count of the bodies he has sent on their way. Ian McShane is ever a delight as Wick’s urbane colleague, Winston, and the film gives us one more chance to see Lance Reddick, who died recently, as the concierge, Charon. (CJ)

    (Credit: Profile Pictures/One Two Films/Nordisk Film Production/Wild Bun)

    (Credit: Profile Pictures/One Two Films/Nordisk Film Production/Wild Bun)

    4. Holy Spider

    Ali Abbasi’s grisly Holy Spider is based on the true story of a married builder (Mehdi Bajestani) who murdered 16 sex workers in Iran’s holy city of Mashhad in 2000 and 2001. Starring Zar Amir Ebrahimi (winner of the best actress award at Cannes) as the determined journalist investigating the crimes, it seems at first to be an atmospheric companion piece to Silence of the Lambs and other big-screen serial-killer dramas. The provocative twist is that some citizens and politicians see the murderer as a local hero on a moral crusade. Behind the generic thrills, Holy Spider is an examination of society-wide misogyny that seems all the more astute in the wake of the Mahsa Amini protests. (NB)

    (Credit: Pyramide Distribution)

    (Credit: Pyramide Distribution)

    5. The Worst Ones

    Sometimes non-professional actors can seem extremely unnatural on screen, but the opposite is true in this sharp, serious yet light-handed fiction about children and adolescents in a run-down neighbourhood in northern France. The conceit of the meta-drama is that real students are being recruited to play fictional variations of their own stories on screen. That is exactly the process the directors Lise Akoka and Romane Gueret, former casting directors, employed in making The Worst Ones, whose ironic title refers to the bad reputation of the kids who are cast. The two children and two adolescents who star here are captivating, with built-in screen presence, as they deal with and laugh at the callous, middle-aged man directing them. Winner of the top prize in the Un Certain Regard section at Cannes last year, The Worst Ones has an unpretentious ease yet becomes a thoughtful look at the exploitation and voyeurism of filming real lives. (CJ)

    EO (Credit: Skopia Film)

    6. EO 

    When a Polish circus is shut down, one of its performers, a donkey, is sent to live in an equestrian centre. But he doesn’t stay there for long. Instead, our long-eared hero trots across Europe, through a series of different episodes in different genres, as if he is guest-starring in a variety of other films. What unites his picaresque adventures, which were inspired by Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar, is their anguish at man’s inhumanity to man (and man’s inhumanity to donkey), and their startlingly psychedelic camerawork, editing and music. Jerzy Skolimowski, the director of EO, might be 84, but he has never been more engaged or energetic. We won’t see another film this year that is so extravagantly bizarre, yet so sweet, loving, and mischievous. (NB)

    (Credit: Mubi/Sony Pictures Classics)

    (Credit: Mubi/Sony Pictures Classics)

    7. Return to Seoul 

    Davy Chou’s small-scale film is deceptively ordinary in its premise. Freddie, a Korean woman in her mid-20s who was adopted as an infant and raised in France, travels to Seoul and reluctantly looks for her birth parents. But as it goes on, the story leaps ahead two years, then five, and depicts Freddie’s morphing sense of identity in unexpected, thoroughly convincing turns. Is she French or Korean; is her look that of a grunge student or a glam businesswoman; does she want to find her mother or not? Park Ji-Min is vibrant and keeps us off-guard as Freddie, and Chou offers a fresh and bracing style. He sets the story in ordinary spaces – narrow streets, offices, restaurants – with a polished look and intimate feel. The original English title better captures the film’s exciting swirl of identity: All the People I’ll Never Be. (CJ)

    (Credit: Neon)

    8. Infinity Pool

    The latest entry in the burgeoning “rich people have a bad time on an island” sub-genre, Infinity Pool shimmers with reflections of Triangle of Sadness, Menu and Glass Onion, although it’s murkier and more toxic than any of them. Alexander Skarsgård stars as a struggling author who visits an exclusive beach resort with his wealthy wife. He discovers too late that the country has a policy of immediate execution for certain crimes, and his holiday from hell gets bloodier, and more jaw-droppingly strange, from then on. It’s true that both the character and the film lose their way, but this whirlpool of extreme cinema proves that its co-star, Mia Goth (who is just as impressive in Pearl), is one of the most extraordinary actresses of her generation, and that its writer-director, Brandon Cronenberg, is talented enough in his own right that we should probably stop comparing him to his dad, David Cronenberg. (NB)

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  • Mary Quant: How her 1960s’ space-age fashions changed what we wear

    Mary Quant: How her 1960s’ space-age fashions changed what we wear

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    The futuristic, minimalist looks of Mary Quant, who has died at the age of 93, are still an inspiration now, writes Dominic Lutyens.

    T

    The silver space-age tunics of Pierre Cardin, the chainmail dresses of Paco Rabanne, the ultra-short minis of Mary Quant – these are all familiar tropes of 1960s style. But what sparked this forward-looking, post-war mood in fashion?  And who were the bohemian, so-called “Chelsea Set”? Its members included Quant, who opened her first boutique Bazaar on the King’s Road in 1955, and Terence Conran, whose first Habitat store opened in 1964. Another important figure was Conran’s close friend Eduardo Paolozzi, a co-founder of the Independent Group, a precursor to Britain’s Pop art movement.

    “This group emerged from the war as very young and rebellious,” says Geoffrey Rayner, co-author with Richard Chamberlain of the book Conran/Quant: Swinging London: A Lifestyle Revolution (ACC Art Books), which accompanied an exhibition at London’s Fashion and Textile Museum in 2019. “The old social order and British Empire were crumbling. Ordinary people had more money. Quant questioned elitist fashion.”

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    A Quant retrospective at London’s Victoria & Albert Museum, also in 2019, showcased her designs for the Bazaar boutique, plus sketches, catwalk footage and cosmetics, the packaging was stamped with her iconic, stylised black-and-white daisy motif.

    The Fashion and Textile Museum exhibited work by Mary Quant among others in Swinging London: A Lifestyle Revolution (Courtesy a private collection)

    The Fashion and Textile Museum exhibited work by Mary Quant among others in Swinging London: A Lifestyle Revolution (Courtesy a private collection)

    “Modernism was at the heart of Quant’s clothing,” Jenny Lister, curator of the V&A show, tells BBC Culture. “It was about functionalism and rejecting anything fussy. Around 1960, she began borrowing utilitarian materials from menswear – tweed, flannel, pinstripe suiting. She also used jersey, which absorbed black and bright colours well, so they looked solid. She wanted women to run, to move. Her clothes were the antithesis of the wasp-waisted Christian Dior look. She was inspired by Cristóbal Balenciaga’s sack dresses and 1920s drop-waisted frocks.”

    Another influence on Quant was Chanel, who helped to free women from corsets, and Quant’s daisy logo looked like a Pop variant on Chanel’s signature white camellia.

    As evidenced by these two exhibitions, the relatively timeless modernist clothing of the 1960s, which appealed to the decade’s Mods, peaking in 1966 before the advent of the more ornate style of psychedelia, continues to fascinate fashion buffs. It has long inspired Hedi Slimane, creative director of fashion house Céline. As creative director of Dior Homme from 2000 to 2007, he introduced his famously skinny, neo-1960s silhouette and also designed stage wear for band The Libertines. Another devotee of the decade was the late Stephen Sprouse, who created 1960s-inspired clothing for Debbie Harry in the 1970s.

    The designer Mary Quant with hair stylist Vidal Sassoon, 1964 (Credit: Getty Images)

    The designer Mary Quant with hair stylist Vidal Sassoon, 1964 (Credit: Getty Images)

    Quant was arguably the most pioneering of them all. She established a template for her radically pared-down designs in the 1950s soon after setting up her label with her future husband Alexander Plunket Greene and photographer and former solicitor Archie McNair. Her earliest, markedly youthful designs included roomy, boxy pinafores and plastic collars to brighten up and accessorise dresses.

    Space age

    The rise of modernity in fashion was also fuelled by a taste for simplicity in interiors. Quant’s second Bazaar boutique in Knightsbridge, which opened in 1957, was designed by Terence Conran and had an uncluttered interior in white, grey and black. Music, mainly modern jazz – frequently played at Bazaar – also contributed to this taste for all things contemporary.

    Paco Rabanne’s metallic, chainmail dresses encapsulated the space-age look of the 1960s (Credit: Getty Images)

    Paco Rabanne’s metallic, chainmail dresses encapsulated the space-age look of the 1960s (Credit: Getty Images)

    Quant was a role model to such near-contemporaries as Sally Dennis, formerly Sally Tuffin, of fashion duo Foale and Tuffin, founded in London in 1961: “We were studying at the Royal College of Art and Quant gave a talk about starting a business. After college, we decided to be brave and set up our label – I thank Mary for that. At art school we’d wanted to express ourselves as liberated women, no longer happy to conform to our mothers’ mode of dress. Our clothes were simple, designed to move easily in, to dance in. As students, we were taken to the Paris fashion shows and a big turning point for us was seeing Givenchy show very minimal clothes in an austere chapel.” 

    The authentic modernity of Quant’s label was reinforced by the fact that she wore her own clothes, which reflected a whole lifestyle. “What a great many people don’t realise is that the look isn’t just the garments you wear,” she wrote in 1965. “It’s the way you put your make-up on, the way you do your hair, the stockings you choose, the way you walk. All these are part of the same ‘feeling’.”

    The 1968 film Barbarella is still an inspiration for designers (Credit: Getty Images)

    The 1968 film Barbarella is still an inspiration for designers (Credit: Getty Images)

    Although her earliest designs were relatively expensive, she voiced a desire to create affordable clothes, so it was a natural progression for her to move into mass-production. From 1961, US retailer JC Penney, which had more than 1,700 stores, commissioned her to design collections. In 1963, she founded the Ginger Group, her diffusion line. In New York, boutique Paraphernalia stocked her clothes.

    Photographed for British Vogue in 1969, models pose in polished-metal creations by Courrèges (Credit: Getty Images)

    Photographed for British Vogue in 1969, models pose in polished-metal creations by Courrèges (Credit: Getty Images)

    Quant was among the first designers to create miniskirts. Short skirts had already been worn by 1950s sci-fi characters who, along with the 1960s space race, were a major inspiration on 1960s fashion. “There was an enormous, romantic interest in space, engendered by sci-fi movies and TV series like Star Trek,” says Rayner. Silver, a colour associated with space travel, was very popular then, as design historian Bevis Hillier pointed out in his book, The Century of Style, citing as examples the silver façades on the Ted Lapidus boutique on Bond Street and The Chelsea Drugstore on the King’s Road.

    Yperlab is among the fashion brands today that are channelling 1960s design – the earrings are by Djurdja Watson (Credit: Darren Evans/ Yperlab)

    Yperlab is among the fashion brands today that are channelling 1960s design – the earrings are by Djurdja Watson (Credit: Darren Evans/ Yperlab)

    Quant was ahead of the curve in her espousal of plastics – a material synonymous with space-age chic – creating an Op Art-inspired, white-and-silver rainwear collection called Wet for the company Alligator in 1965.

    Quant was rejected by the Paris fashion establishment, just as Cardin had been expelled by the city’s Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture for launching a ready-to-wear line. Cardin had fully embraced a futuristic aesthetic, developing a synthetic fabric called Cardine. Meanwhile, Courrèges, a former civil engineer, unveiled his space-age look in 1964, his astronaut-like models attired in helmets, opaque sunglasses and silver trousers.

    Quant’s influence can be seen in contemporary fashion, including Yperlab (Credit: Darren Evans/ Yperlab)

    Quant’s influence can be seen in contemporary fashion, including Yperlab (Credit: Darren Evans/ Yperlab)

    Slimane aside, fashion labels today are channelling 1960s design. Yperlab, based in Paris and London, dreams up clothing with a distinctly 1960s look, stocked by Paris boutique Lol by Louisiane. “We’ve done photoshoots that pay tribute to our heroes,” says Brice La Barthe, one of the label’s co-founders. “One was a homage to William Klein’s 1966 movie, Who Are You, Polly Maggoo?, which satirised the excesses of the fashion industry.”

    Designs by footwear brand Ops&Ops are influenced by the 1960s aesthetic (Credit: Ops&Ops)

    Designs by footwear brand Ops&Ops are influenced by the 1960s aesthetic (Credit: Ops&Ops)

    Footwear brand Ops&Ops, meanwhile, is also inspired by the 1960s – from boutique Mr Freedom, whose fun clothing featured US cartoon characters and Debbie Harry. Their designs include the No 12 ankle boot, one of whose colourways is called Moon Dust, and the No 16 boot, inspired by the movie Barbarella. “But the designs can live on their own,” says Teri Olins, one of the label’s designers. “You don’t need to get the 1960s references, for us the shoes just need to look modern.”

    A version of this article was originally published in 2019.

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  • The Rossettis: The ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ bohemians who shocked Victorian Britain

    The Rossettis: The ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ bohemians who shocked Victorian Britain

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    (Image credit: Museum of Fine Arts Boston)

    A new exhibition at Tate Britain celebrates the ‘strange and extreme’ world of the Rossetti family, who challenged conventions in art and life, writes Matthew Wilson.

    M

    Meet the Rossettis: Christina, her brother Dante Gabriel, and his wife Elizabeth. Their art and poetry stunned Victorian Britain, but is their greatest legacy to be found mostly in their output, or their spirit of bohemianism? The Rossettis, a new exhibition at Tate Britain, invites us into the world of a very atypical Victorian family. It’s a world where avant-garde fashion meets female liberation, drug addiction, political radicalism, and wombats.

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    “The Rossettis were into anything strange and extreme,” Carol Jacobi, the curator of the exhibition, tells BBC Culture. “They were very impatient with the conventional rules of art and literature. They were looking around for alternative heroes: they were Britain’s first avant-garde art movement.”

    For some, the paintings of Dante Gabriel Rossetti (and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, the movement he co-founded) are too punctilious and primly moralising, especially when compared to contemporary French art movements like the Impressionists and the Post-Impressionists, with their bolder formal experiments and franker depiction of modern life. But that misses the most important aspect of the Rossetti generation in Britain. Their major contribution was a radical new attitude for artists and female creatives in the country – “bohemianism”.

    The white poppy in Rossetti's Beata Beatrix, 1864 symbolises the death of his wife, Elizabeth Siddal, who overdosed on laudanum in 1862 (Credit: Tate / Baroness Mount-Temple)

    The white poppy in Rossetti’s Beata Beatrix, 1864 symbolises the death of his wife, Elizabeth Siddal, who overdosed on laudanum in 1862 (Credit: Tate / Baroness Mount-Temple)

    Originating as a derogatory term for Roma travellers in France, the term has since been used to define individuals of unconventional behaviour and experimental fashion choices: those who mischief the rules of society and soar towards adventure, and expressive freedoms. The bohemian spirit of outlandish fashion and excessive behaviour is central to modern-day music, design, clothing, and art. Its counter-cultural swagger is integral to the devil-may-care attitude of performers like Patti Smith and the 1975’s Matty Healy, the outré fashion of David Bowie and Lady Gaga, and the hedonism of Keith Richards and Kate Moss. At its heart, bohemianism is an assault on any value perceived to be middle-class. That involves conventional gender roles, conservative attitudes towards love, traditional family values, conformity in dress, and the repression of sensual pleasure.

    How did the Rossettis kick-start this influential way of life among artists back in Victorian Britain? And how do wombats come into the picture? It begins with the unconventional family household. The Rossettis were first-generation Londoners: their father was an Italian freedom-fighter and poet, and their mother was a scholar, also from an Italian family. The young Rossettis were brought up in a unique environment where progressive politics and artistic creativity were of the highest value.

    Christina Rossetti's poetry was first published when she was 16 years old; her best-known work is Goblin Market (Credit: Tate)

    Christina Rossetti’s poetry was first published when she was 16 years old; her best-known work is Goblin Market (Credit: Tate)

    Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) blazed an early trail – her poetry was first published when she was just 16 years old. Probably her best-known poem is Goblin Market (written in 1859), a startlingly original allegory of sexuality corrupted in a materialist world. These themes would later be mirrored in Gabriel’s and Elizabeth’s paintings. Christina was a quiet radical, leading an unconventional life for a woman at the time. She established a highly successful and well-remunerated career without the bourgeois dependence upon a husband as financial guardian.

    ‘Rock ‘n’ roll excesses’

    If you’re still wondering about the wombats, they are relevant to Christina’s brother, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882). He was equally precocious, co-founding a revolutionary new art movement, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, aged 20. The “PRB” was dedicated to bucking the authority of Britain’s Royal Academy of Arts. It believed in an art that offered truth based on perceptual accuracy and moral courage, both of which Gabriel believed to be lacking in academic art favoured by the middle classes. He led his artistic contemporaries with charisma, inspiration, and a revolutionary outlook which could be tantalisingly bizarre and often bordering on the scandalous.

    Dante Gabriel Rossetti co-founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which was dedicated to challenging the authority of the Royal Academy (Credit: Alamy)

    Dante Gabriel Rossetti co-founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which was dedicated to challenging the authority of the Royal Academy (Credit: Alamy)

    “Gabriel dropped out of art school – you don’t get much more bohemian than that,” Carol Jacobi explains. “He would wear evening dress during the day, and he was the first of these people who would go around wearing black to be cool.”

    In his attitude towards love, Gabriel probably saw himself as a boundary-pushing libertine. But his liaisons were also mindless of anyone’s emotions but his own. Whilst in a long-term relationship with Elizabeth Siddal (which lasted 10 years before he proposed marriage) Gabriel had a tryst with Fanny Cornforth, a popular Pre-Raphaelite model. He later had an affair with Jane Morris, wife of his friend William Morris.

    A wombat in Three Animals Studies by Christina Rossetti, one of the many exotic pets kept by Dante Gabriel Rossetti in his Cheyne Walk residence (Credit: Alamy)

    A wombat in Three Animals Studies by Christina Rossetti, one of the many exotic pets kept by Dante Gabriel Rossetti in his Cheyne Walk residence (Credit: Alamy)

    After Siddal died in 1862, Gabriel moved into a house in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. It became host to his rock ‘n’ roll excesses, particularly his obsession with exotic pets. Wombats were a particular fixation, but he also kept an armadillo, peacocks, kangaroos, a mole, and a Pomeranian hound named Punch. His pet toucan was taught to ride around the house on a llama. These animals frequently ran amok in the household or escaped to terrorise Gabriel’s respectable neighbours. According to the US painter Whistler, late one night Gabriel had his wombat brought to the table along with coffee and cigars, so that it could enjoy readings by another guest, the scandalous poet Algernon Charles Swinburne.

    Triumph and tragedy

    These stories bring out key aspects of the bohemian character – a disdain for bourgeois norms, a penchant for self-mythologising, and perhaps the most influential, the idea that art didn’t have to be boxed in a gallery or museum. For Gabriel, life itself became a kind of art form. Gabriel’s excesses reached new depths in 1869, when he exhumed the corpse of Siddal from her grave in Highgate Cemetery to retrieve a manuscript of poems that he had placed beneath her hair. The pages had to be soaked in disinfectant for two weeks before Gabriel could transcribe them for publication. Like Siddal, Gabriel was to die relatively young in 1882, from addictions to alcohol and chloral hydrate, a medically prescribed sedative.

    Elizabeth Siddal (1829-1862), Gabriel’s lover and eventual wife, was a pioneering woman of the 19th Century, devising her own unconventional and self-made fashions, and establishing independence as an artist. “She completely redefined women’s clothing,” says Jacobi. “She just couldn’t be doing with crinoline and corsets and all that stuff, so what she did was to redesign working clothes. She went out in adapted fashions with her hair down. That freedom of clothing was so inspirational. It became the look – if you wanted to see yourself as a progressive young woman, that’s how you would dress.”

    Elizabeth Siddal, c1854 – Siddal worked in a hat shop before being befriended by the Pre-Raphaelite artists, often serving as their model (Credit: Delaware Arts Museum)

    Elizabeth Siddal, c1854 – Siddal worked in a hat shop before being befriended by the Pre-Raphaelite artists, often serving as their model (Credit: Delaware Arts Museum)

    Siddal was a working-class woman who was employed in a hat shop before being befriended by Pre-Raphaelite artists in 1849. She served as a model in their paintings, and then became an artist in her own right. Gabriel and Elizabeth collaborated and influenced each other. Their love affair and eventual marriage was tumultuous and problematic and has since become much mythologised. But there are aspects to her bohemian character that come through strongly in her story.

    “She very much didn’t lead her life according to the rules,” Jacobi explains. “She spent years with Rossetti before they were married, and recently it’s been suggested that it wasn’t the case that she was waiting for Gabriel to marry her, but she was deliberately retaining her independence.”

    Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal as Lady Affixing Pennant to a Knight's Spear, 1856 shows the recurring theme of love in the Rossettis' art and poetry (Credit: Tate)

    Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal as Lady Affixing Pennant to a Knight’s Spear, 1856 shows the recurring theme of love in the Rossettis’ art and poetry (Credit: Tate)

    Siddall was essentially self-taught, she defied social categorisation, and wore liberation as a badge of pride. These characteristics were innovative in Victorian London but became the very definition of bohemianism in the next century and beyond. Tragically, like Gabriel, Elizabeth was a victim of addiction: she died from an overdose of laudanum, an opioid that was used as a painkiller in the 19th Century.

    The Rossettis’ story contains as much triumph as it does tragedy. But their greatest gift to art history (bequeathed in three very distinct life stories) was to invent Britain’s first artistic subculture, lived in direct conflict with Victorian standards. Christina busted gender stereotypes about female creativity, love, and family life; Gabriel flouted bourgeois norms of every stripe and made daily life an artistic event; and Siddal established a unique creative and sartorial independence. Rather than living the lifestyles dictated by society, they chose their own path – and they became Britain’s original arty bohemians.

    The Rossettis is at Tate Britain, London, until 24 September 2023.

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  • Obsession review: Netflix’s erotic BDSM thriller is excruciating to watch

    Obsession review: Netflix’s erotic BDSM thriller is excruciating to watch

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    She doesn’t seem to have any interests beyond writing pretentiously in her journal (“I am lost and then I am found… I have a sense of symmetry. That somehow I have conquered two sides of a mountain at the same time”) and a bit of light BDSM. By the time we do learn about her past and why she is the way she is, we’re absolutely bored to tears by her.

    But we don’t really know anything about William either. He’s barely two-dimensional. His character description in a CliffsNotes for this show would read simply: “Successful surgeon. Likes olives and light BDSM.” It’s hard to feel anything for either him or Anna. 

    The bestselling 1990 novella on which this is based – Damage by Josephine Hart, made into a 1992 film of the same name, starring Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche – is narrated by the William Farrow character so there we have access to, at least, his thoughts and feelings in a way that we simply don’t here. 

    The eventual ending left me with a lot of questions, none of which was “Will there be a second season?” But if it also fails to get your juices flowing, don’t despair. Although Nicholas Barber has argued on BBC Culture that the 1992 movie Basic Instinct represented both the apogee and the end of the erotic thriller, Obsession is merely the first thrust in a veritable orgy of upcoming productions trying to revive the genre. Among others, we can look forward to Fatal Attraction, which has been repurposed as a TV series and arrives on Paramount Plus at the end of this month, starring Lizzy Caplan and Joshua Jackson. Peacock is remaking the 1996 move Fear (“Fatal Attraction for teens,” the original film’s producer called it), while Apple TV+ has announced Presumed Innocent with Jake Gyllenhaal and Ruth Negga, adapted from the 1987 Scott Turow novel of the same name, which was previously filmed with Harrison Ford.

    It looks as though, after a lengthy recovery period, the erotic thriller has lead in its pencil again. Let’s hope, unlike Obsession, these other new shows are more “Moans softly” than “Exhales sharply”.

    ★★☆☆☆

    Obsession is released on Netflix internationally on 13 April

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  • The Evil Dead: The horror shocker that set off a culture war

    The Evil Dead: The horror shocker that set off a culture war

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    The Evil Dead, along with other video nasties, was then put on a list of films deemed to be “obscene”, and its VHS distributors Palace Pictures found themselves prosecuted. They successfully defended themselves, but the following year a new piece of legislation changed the game once more. The Video Recordings Act clamped down further on the distribution of “video nasties”, with the act’s author, Conservative politician Sir Graham Bright, declaring among other things that he believed research was taking place that “will show that these films not only affect young people but will affect dogs as well”.

    In light of this, The Evil Dead had to be resubmitted to the BBFC for VHS classification, who refused to give it one (as it was still potentially threatened with further local prosecutions), and so it was withdrawn from sale and didn’t appear again until 1990. Even then, the BBFC still required further cuts beyond those undertaken for the previously passed cinema release. After several attempts throughout the following decade to get the film released uncut, in March 2001 the BBFC conceded that tastes had changed in the intervening years: the film was finally released uncut with an 18 certificate.

    The film also ran into trouble in other countries. The original video was quickly banned in Finland after its initial home release in 1984. West Germany also took great exception to the film, and banned it not long after its theatrical release in 1984, in spite of initially passing it. When Britain released the film uncut in 2001, it took German authorities only a few months to again ban this new restoration. It wasn’t until 2017 that the film was finally released there uncut. Even then, it took criticism of Germany’s response from author Stephen King to change things.

    Reflecting  on the treatment of The Evil Dead, 40 years on, it’s interesting to note just how misunderstood the film was. The film’s knowingly over-the-top tone was lost on the censors, who deliberately approached it with the sort of po-faced, obtuse seriousness often present when demanding the banning of artwork on moral grounds.

    Its remarkable artistry

    The Evil Dead is a conjuring trick of a film, as well as a shocker. With the help of cameraman Tim Philo and special effects artist Tom Sullivan, Raimi utilised an array of low-budget techniques to create a gut-wrenching experience. The film’s shoot was arduous, made difficult by its low-tech effects, limited budget and an isolated location in very cold weather. “It was freezing,” Raimi told IGN in a 2015 interview. “When you’re in that cold for 16 hours… I started to die. There was no food, and everything was covered in Karo syrup in that temperature.”

    The violence in the film is visceral and memorable, but it is the creativity on show that is arguably its main draw. Aside from the effective jump-scares and the occasional button-pushing gore, the film is an effective post-modern enterprise that fully embraces absurdity and horror history.

    Inside the cabin, fragments of dead creatures hang from the ceiling in an ode to Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). A sound effect of clocks chiming is the same stock sound heard in George Pal’s horror-tinged adaptation of HG Wells’s The Time Machine (1960), and the stop-motion animation of the demons’ messy demise certainly feels like a nod to the famous stop-motion death of a Morlock in Pal’s film by special effects artist Wah Chang. In the basement, a torn poster for Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes (1977) can be seen, itself a nod to Craven’s use of a poster for Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) in his own film. Raimi and Craven would continue referencing each other’s work, with The Evil Dead seen playing on a television in Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984).

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  • Succession episode 3: ‘The greatest episode of TV this year’

    Succession episode 3: ‘The greatest episode of TV this year’

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    The rest of the episode takes place almost in real time, ramping up the tension. Every passing second makes it less likely Logan will survive. One of the most effective choices is to keep him off screen from the minute we hear he is ill. Brilliantly, and to great emotional effect, the drama places us in his children’s position. When Tom says he’ll put the phone to Logan’s ear, the dynamic is intense because no one knows if they are already speaking into a void. And in some of the series’ best writing, the calls display the essence of each character, and how profound their love-hate feelings for Logan are.

    Ken (Jeremy Strong), whom Logan once set up to take the fall for corporate crimes and in return denounced his father publicly, tells him, “I don’t forgive you. I love you.” On some level he probably believes that, but it is a vicious goodbye. Perhaps that makes him the child most like Logan.  

    Shiv (Sarah Snook) has wavered between desperately needing her father’s love and selling him out because he has done the same to her. Now she reverts to being his little princess, saying to her unresponsive father, “Dad. Dad. Daddy.”

    Roman (Kieran Culkin), often reluctant to grow up, doesn’t want to believe Logan is dying, telling his father that of course he’ll pull through. The Lear analogy may be overused, but Roman is the shadow Cordelia figure, the youngest and most loving. Again and again he has tried to sell out his father, but in the end never can.

    And, as always, Connor (Alan Ruck), who poignantly revealed in episode two that he has learned to live without love, is an afterthought, called in by his siblings when it is too late to even try to talk to their father.

    It is not shocking that Logan dies, of course. Armstrong’s original plan was to kill him off in the first season. His relatively early exit now gives the series room to breathe as it plays out the actual succession, in a sense bringing the show back to what it was always intended to be.

    But Logan’s absence highlights how diminished the series would have been without him. Every string his children pulled, every undermining manoeuvre they tried, led back to him, setting him up to roar at them, “I won!” Brian Cox has made Logan one of television’s most indelible characters. His last encounter with any of his children is a call ordering Roman to fire Gerri (J Smith-Cameron), a cruel and masterful stroke. At once, he cuts her out as a threat, tests Roman’s loyalty, and breaks Roman and Gerri’s sexually fraught flirtation. To the end, Logan stays true to his monstrous self. And he refuses to give up power. Lear-like, he leaves no clarity about a successor, just a mess.

    Succession season four is on HBO Max in the US, and on Sky Atlantic and Now TV in the UK.

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  • Ai Weiwei interview: Everyday objects that reveal the truth

    Ai Weiwei interview: Everyday objects that reveal the truth

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    One of Ai’s most famous pieces, a series of photographs titled Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn(1995), depicts the artist seemingly destroying a 2,000-year-old artefact. The images solidified Ai as the prolific iconoclast we know today. “As part of humanity, artists construct and deconstruct to create new definitions, constantly scrutinising and evaluating our value system and the possibilities of our existence,” Ai tells  BBC Culture. “This is how I always approach problems, by standing on the opposite side of the issue, or even the opposite side of myself. I believe this measure is the most trustworthy one.”

    How have your personal experiences informed your work? 

    To put it simply, everything I have done in the past, what I am doing now, and what I will do in the future is all directed towards one question: “who am I?” It’s common knowledge that our understanding of ourselves is closely tied to our life experiences, memories, and how we respond to everyday situations. This can be a struggle since our self-perception is not something that can be easily detached from reality and memories.

    It was rather late when I fully realised this. For over 50 years before 2011, I was very confused. On 3 April 2011, I was secretly detained. It was a very important moment for me because this experience forced me to re-evaluate my situation, where I came from, and who I truly was. After 81 days in secret detention, I was surprisingly released. It was then that I realised I needed to understand what happened in the past, why my father, a poet, was exiled, and how my time with him had influenced me.

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