8th 2013 5 stars From the opening tease of Magritte, it’s hard not to be overwhelmed physically and mentally by this major mix and match collection of twentieth and twenty-first century work from the moment you step into the first corridor. Which, for a show that’s about the body, but which, in its epic parade through both floors of Modern One, says just as much about mind and spirit, is how it should be.
The first room sets the tone by off-setting Sarah Lucas’ spindly and be-stockinged Bunny Gets Snookered #10 with Otto Dix’ more bulbous Madchen Auf Fell, and things seem to swell up into something spectacular with each wonderland entered.
Cock, balls and cunt are of course in abundance, but this is no prick-tease, despite the rise and fall of Matthew Barney’s stunningly glossy five-screen Cremester Cycle of phallic fantasias (the cremester, of course, being the muscle that lifts and separates the testicles) which at times resembles the ups and downs inside Terry Gilliam’s head. Paul McCarthy’s equally monumental multi-screen film installation, Pirate Party, transforms Pirates of the Caribbean into a grotesque limb-hacking blood-n’-guts extravaganza a la Marat/Sade. Marina Abramovic’s film-works too give food for thought, as a naked man and woman are gate-keepers of an entrance which cool dudes are forced to squeeze past.
It’s an astonishing archive, which, seen together at such close quarters, becomes a living, breathing organism in itself. Seemingly apposite in execution, it in actual fact finds every artefact joined at the hip with gloriously throbbing umbilical abandon.
The List, February 2013