It is generally acknowledged that romantic women’s fiction subscribes, in the main, to the following truisms: there must be an "emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending’ and where possible the ‘hero’ should appear to be unobtainable à la Rochester with his mad wife; Edward, a vampire and, of course, Christian with his fucked-up kinkiness
“We're white, we’re westerners, we're girls and we’re rich, of course we're fucking miserable. The standards are just too fucking high for us to be anything else.” Milly Thomas' new play, A First World Problem, is a must-see. Under bright lights and perched on hard-backed, straight-A classroom chairs three young women are poised like eager greyhounds waiting for the rabbit to be released. Each one holds the key to a future in her lap, cased in an innocuous brown envelope. Have they been accepted to Oxbridge, or rejected? And if they've got the go-ahead, are they attractive enough, slim enough, sporty or edgy or rich enough, to succeed there? These are 'first world problems', and lead actress-cum-writer Milly Thomas' eponymous new play is chock-a-block with 'em.
At the start of his book, Mr. Smith poses the questions: “What is the nature of man’s – or rather men’s –intimate and erotic relations with inanimate human forms?”…”When, where and why have human beings – usually but by no means only, men – fallen in love with statues and other inanimate things?”…”What provokes or stirs them to consummate that love erotically and what form does such consummating take?” These are provocative and intriguing questions…
Gazzman’s Down On Abby, by missing a crucial ‘t’ and ‘e’, cheekily creates a porno-parody of a particularly notorious period soap, one of the several jewels in Julian Fellowes’ artistic (and now, of course, baronial) coronet. Except that in Gazzman’s movie, not much happens in the way of snobbery, avarice, pride, intolerance or any other of the many aristocratic vices that Baron Fellowes so lovingly, yet obsessively, dwells upon. Aristos and staff are all far too busy screwing one another. In the nicest way possible.
Channel 4 has had the wisdom to allow Everett total creative control. He conducted his inquiry with delicacy, balance and restraint. There was nothing louche in the way he explored the world of paid sex – in which he has been both consumer and vendor. Instead he used his credentials to elicit the views and commentaries of his respondents with great insight and gentle empathy.
Every generation is accused of believing that it invented sex. In the wake of the Olympic summer, however, you couldn’t catch a tube without catching the eye of the blushing person opposite, precariously balancing Fifty Shades of Grey upon clenched knees. This generation’s late teens and twentysomethings might be forgiven for thinking their own, Jane Austen-style ‘coming out’ ball far racier than anything which had come before.
Feeling frustrated? Horny, even? Then the whisper-quiet We-Vibe Touch and Tango both pack a powerful punch, way above their respective weights, yet they can be gentle, too. Not unlike a good masseur or masseuse, come to think of it…
In a country where heterosexual hand-holding in public is considered distasteful, Lotte Hoek explores an underground culture of ‘cut-piece’ cinema, in which short, pornographic scenes are spliced into a film and shown to audiences behind the back of the draconian censor board. Her book, Cut-Pieces: Celluloid Obscenity and Popular Cinema in Bangladesh is an ethnography of a particular film called Mintu the Murderer, from its production to its reception in Bangladesh.
Among the many illuminations offered by Grayson Perry in his Reith Lectures was that of the artist’s primary function to ‘notice things’. The implication being that unless an artwork leads us to notice something we had not before been aware of or considered it is not really art. It may be great décor or design, but it is not strictly speaking ‘art’. Grayson did not add that caveat but it surely follows that if we are not prompted to think about meaning, the artefact however skilfully contrived is essentially a piece of artisanal craftsmanship, however admirable.
Lady Alex served up Wam Bam Electric with a sort of elegantly disdainful panache. This is, musically at least, a fine tribute to the 80s, energetically performed and bathed in that trashy, flashy period’s disco glitter. But never mind the nostalgia, it’s a superbly balanced show, more cabaret than burlesque, perhaps, but none the worse for that.