When pop culture wants to go legitimate, it dabbles in ‘high’ art forms. This idea permeated through the opening weekend of the inaugural Manchester International Festival, in which Blur and Gorillaz frontman Damon Albarn made his debut as an opera composer, and Salman Rushdie’s novel, The Ground Beneath Her Feet, was given a multi-media treatment featuring the combined might of The Halle Orchestra, a new film by Mike Figgis and narration by Alan Rickman.
Nowhere were expectations higher than those surrounding Monkey – Journey To The West, in which musical magpie Albarn and his visual partner-in-crime Jamie Hewlett combined to turn the 16th century Chinese fable of the Monkey king, made familiar to Albarn and Hewlett’s generation by the high-kicking cult 1970s TV show, into an all-singing, all dancing, multi-coloured spectacular.
First conceived by director Chen Shi-Zheng and co-produced in this lavish affair by Theatre du Chatelet, Paris with MIF and The State Opera House, Berlin, Monkey charts the adventures of the tale’s eponymous shape-shifting hero, from his hatching from an egg on the mountainside, to his eventual enlightenment in Paradise. Inbetween he swims with exotic sea creatures, is imprisoned by Buddha for 500 years and smites demons dead on his extended pilgrimage.
Given Albarn’s drama school roots and flirtation with post-modern vaudeville, a move into panto was inevitable. Because that’s what Monkey is, albeit writ large with breath-taking Chinese acrobatic displays that wouldn’t look out of place on a Bank Holiday Royal Variety show.
Performed in mandarin with dramaturgy by David Greenspan, Monkey’s nine scenes are epic set-pieces top-and-tailed by Hewlett’s Cinemascope sized animations accompanied by Albarn’s extended pan-global musical tourism, played by an orchestra of 30. Traditional Chinese motifs twang with eastern promise. A wheezy fairground organ accompanies The Spider Woman’s multi-tiered erotic ribbon dance. Buddha’s gigantic hand is set down to doomy prophecies gleaned from Philip Glass’ score to the film, Koyaanisquaatsi. The effect nevertheless is pretty impressive.
Beyond the sheer scale of the event, involving the dazzling martial arts athleticism of the 9-strong principle cast and its supporting array of more than 50 acrobats, by far the most impressive thing about Monkey is its look. Hewlett’s 3D diorama style sets are perfect for what is in effect a cartoon brought to life. While Paradise is a day-glo Busby Berkeley routine set to a Minnie Riperton style chorus, if you’re past row G of the Palace Theatre’s Stalls, don’t expect to see the surtitles, or indeed half of the stage.
There were no such problems at The Bridgewater Hall, where The Halle made full use of its acoustics in Russian composer Victoria Bosirova-Ollas’ orchestral rendering of Salman Rushdie’s novel, The Ground Beneath Her Feet. A contemporary Indian rendering of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, singers James McOran-Campbell and Lore Lixenberg play the lovers as rock superstars who meet in a Bombay record shop.
Leaving aside Bono from U2’s blessing of the original book as ‘the first great rock n’roll novel of the 21st century,’ the sum parts of Mike Figgis’s production never fully gel. Accompanied by Rickman’s sonorous narration as told by photographer Rai, Figgis’ new silent film may capture the story’s more intimate moments, but leaves its epic qualities to the music. Which, especially in the torch ballad settings for the onstage rock trio, sounded decidedly old-fashioned.
If the relationship between classical and rock and roll mythology was to be explored, all concerned might have done worse than to check out the installation at the Festival Pavilion, which showed former Buzzcocks singer Howard Devoto’s Super 8 footage of The Sex Pistols gig 30 years ago that inspired Manchester’s entire music scene.
Or, they could have watched The Fall playing the magnificently unreconstructed Ritz ballroom as part of the launch for the Perverted By Language collection of short stories inspired by their songs. Having already disowned the book, Fall vocalist Mark E Smith didn’t mention the readings that preceded the band’s incendiary performance. In terms of legitimacy, The Fall typically and bloody-mindedly swam against the tide of MIF’s enterprisingly eclectic weekend. “My work is done,” were Smith’s parting words. One suspects he won’t be seeing Monkey.
MIF runs until July 15. For tickets and full details, 0871 230 1888, www.manchesterinternationalfestival.com
The Herald, July 3rd 2007
ends
Nowhere were expectations higher than those surrounding Monkey – Journey To The West, in which musical magpie Albarn and his visual partner-in-crime Jamie Hewlett combined to turn the 16th century Chinese fable of the Monkey king, made familiar to Albarn and Hewlett’s generation by the high-kicking cult 1970s TV show, into an all-singing, all dancing, multi-coloured spectacular.
First conceived by director Chen Shi-Zheng and co-produced in this lavish affair by Theatre du Chatelet, Paris with MIF and The State Opera House, Berlin, Monkey charts the adventures of the tale’s eponymous shape-shifting hero, from his hatching from an egg on the mountainside, to his eventual enlightenment in Paradise. Inbetween he swims with exotic sea creatures, is imprisoned by Buddha for 500 years and smites demons dead on his extended pilgrimage.
Given Albarn’s drama school roots and flirtation with post-modern vaudeville, a move into panto was inevitable. Because that’s what Monkey is, albeit writ large with breath-taking Chinese acrobatic displays that wouldn’t look out of place on a Bank Holiday Royal Variety show.
Performed in mandarin with dramaturgy by David Greenspan, Monkey’s nine scenes are epic set-pieces top-and-tailed by Hewlett’s Cinemascope sized animations accompanied by Albarn’s extended pan-global musical tourism, played by an orchestra of 30. Traditional Chinese motifs twang with eastern promise. A wheezy fairground organ accompanies The Spider Woman’s multi-tiered erotic ribbon dance. Buddha’s gigantic hand is set down to doomy prophecies gleaned from Philip Glass’ score to the film, Koyaanisquaatsi. The effect nevertheless is pretty impressive.
Beyond the sheer scale of the event, involving the dazzling martial arts athleticism of the 9-strong principle cast and its supporting array of more than 50 acrobats, by far the most impressive thing about Monkey is its look. Hewlett’s 3D diorama style sets are perfect for what is in effect a cartoon brought to life. While Paradise is a day-glo Busby Berkeley routine set to a Minnie Riperton style chorus, if you’re past row G of the Palace Theatre’s Stalls, don’t expect to see the surtitles, or indeed half of the stage.
There were no such problems at The Bridgewater Hall, where The Halle made full use of its acoustics in Russian composer Victoria Bosirova-Ollas’ orchestral rendering of Salman Rushdie’s novel, The Ground Beneath Her Feet. A contemporary Indian rendering of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, singers James McOran-Campbell and Lore Lixenberg play the lovers as rock superstars who meet in a Bombay record shop.
Leaving aside Bono from U2’s blessing of the original book as ‘the first great rock n’roll novel of the 21st century,’ the sum parts of Mike Figgis’s production never fully gel. Accompanied by Rickman’s sonorous narration as told by photographer Rai, Figgis’ new silent film may capture the story’s more intimate moments, but leaves its epic qualities to the music. Which, especially in the torch ballad settings for the onstage rock trio, sounded decidedly old-fashioned.
If the relationship between classical and rock and roll mythology was to be explored, all concerned might have done worse than to check out the installation at the Festival Pavilion, which showed former Buzzcocks singer Howard Devoto’s Super 8 footage of The Sex Pistols gig 30 years ago that inspired Manchester’s entire music scene.
Or, they could have watched The Fall playing the magnificently unreconstructed Ritz ballroom as part of the launch for the Perverted By Language collection of short stories inspired by their songs. Having already disowned the book, Fall vocalist Mark E Smith didn’t mention the readings that preceded the band’s incendiary performance. In terms of legitimacy, The Fall typically and bloody-mindedly swam against the tide of MIF’s enterprisingly eclectic weekend. “My work is done,” were Smith’s parting words. One suspects he won’t be seeing Monkey.
MIF runs until July 15. For tickets and full details, 0871 230 1888, www.manchesterinternationalfestival.com
The Herald, July 3rd 2007
ends
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