LLGFF: Together Alone

This year's just concluded LLGFF featured a coachload of ensemble pieces, such as New York-based comedy The Four-Faced Liar and wartime London drama The Night Watch.

The former, which closed the festival last night and is due out on DVD on Monday, is a witty take on that old trope, the conversion job, as 20-something dyke player Bridget falls for straight girl Molly, while they are, eh, researching a project for a literature class. Yes, somehow Wuthering Heights brings them together. That Emily Bronte.

What is interesting in terms of the structure of the film is that the lesbian character is foregrounded among a group of five: straight couples Trip and Chloe and Molly and Greg, plus Bridget. Far from being the odd one out, Bridget is the link between the groups, as she is the housemate of Trip, who becomes friends with deadly dull Greg.

The film has great fun contrasting the dude bonding of the two straight guys with Molly and Bridget's girl-bonding over Bronte and their emotional heart-to-hearts, while at the same time illustrating Bridget's desire to avoid emotional entanglements with anyone. Of course, it all gets terribly messy, but writer-producer-star Marja Lewis Ryan, who adapted the story from her play, is a real find.



Meanwhile, Monday saw the premiere of the BBC adaptation of Sarah Waters' Blitz-era novel The Night Watch. I found this book a bleak read, with the reversed chronology telling the unhappy ending before finishing with the meeting of two of the main characters, Kay and Helen.

The filmed version kept this structure, though sweetening it slightly. Anna Maxwell Martin, who plays Kay, is physically slighter than I would have imagined, but has a very careworn demeanour that fits with the character's stolidness. The Blitz scenes really come to life, and the non-Kay storylines, which I found less interesting in the book, also stand up well.

LLGFF: Hey Boy, Hey Girl

After the inter-generational lesbian clash of The Owls, it's interesting to view films pairing young gay men and straight women.

Sasha is a German coming out drama whose titular character comes from a conservative ex-Yugoslav background. His pal Jiao, though disappointed by Sasha romantically, stands by him, as he negotiates the tricky terrain of lusting after his older gay piano teacher, while keeping his budding sexuality secret from his warring parents and the prying eyes of his younger brother. It's mostly played for laughs, with Sasha's fumbling attempts to seduce the teacher contrasted with the desperate aspirations of his mother.

I was very curious to see Heartbeats, the latest from the hotly tipped enfant terrible, Xavier Dolan, and it didn't disappoint. A frustrated menage-a-trois featuring Dolan's Francis and his best pal, Marie, both lusting after the cherubic and sexually ambiguous Nicolas, the film plays as a coming-of-age comedy-drama, with Francis and Marie's relationship coming under severe strain, as their increasingly desperate efforts to gain Nicolas' favours takes its toll. Brilliant use of pop tunes adds to the tension and air of yearning, with Dolan showing a sure hand as writer, director and co-star.

LLGFF + Lacan

Although the truncated London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival is well underway, I have only made the most cursory of visits so far. Oddly, though I have seen fewer films, I have been invited to more parties and what eye-openers those have been! Tonight, for example, I popped into a trans party and re-made the acquaintance of someone I haven't seen for five years. And there was cake!

Sunday night I was rubbing shoulders with the great and good connected to The Owls, Cheryl Dunye's collaborative lesbian thriller. Except it didn't really seem that collaborative: she is credited as director and co-writer and it was her story. But, the cast rewrote the script. It turned out as not much of a thriller, but had some great comic moments and the behind-the-scenes doc, Hooters, was a scream, providing some unintentionally hilarious moments of lesbian processing that had the audience in hysterics.

As it happened, this evening I also bumped into Lisa Gornick, one of the stars of The Owls, and asked her if the shoot was as much of a nightmare as Hooters suggests. She said not, but that it was a one-time experience for her: next it's back to her auteur films, this time not on the theme of babies, as had been the case with Tick-Tock Lullaby. This led to a lively discussion of lesbians and babies and how interesting that experience is to see on screen, and then she dropped the L-bomb: Lacan.

Yes, she said it was about "Lacanian lack". At the festival launch some weeks back, Gornick had told me queer film festivals were all about intellectualising and flirting through the brain, but here it was in evidence. Gotta love those brainy women.

Born in Flames

More underground NYC culture, at a viewing of Lizzie Borden's dystopian future vision at the finale of Reproductive Labour.

While I had seen the film years ago at a queer film festival, I didn't recall much of it. On this re-view, I found it quite thought-provoking and prescient, with its mix of female rebellion, eroding labour rights and African revolutionary struggles all conflated into one seething city, plus cameos from future stars Kathryn Bigelow and Eric Bogosian.

The Downtown New York Scene

A visit to Laurie Anderson, Trisha Brown, Gordon Matta-Clark, Pioneers of the Downtown Scene, New York 1970s is quite the eye-opener, especially conducted under the watchful eye of the "supermoon".

In truth, the moon wasn't much in evidence when I arrived at the gallery for an early Saturday evening visit. And when I emerged two hours later, the moon was nowhere to be seen. But, SOMETHING was in the air. How else to explain the strange confluence of events, from the mysterious piano appearing on the pavement of a Shoreditch street to the gravity-defying yoghurt accident that befell me? London felt like one big performance piece.

But, back to the exhibit, a sprawling beast taking in two floors, numerous rooms and multi, multi-media: sculpture, sound art, Super 8 film, drawings, and even some dance. Trisha Brown's gymnastics-infused choreography is performed several times a day on the walls of the Barbican, as well as on the floor. I saw two pieces, Floor of the Forest and Walking on the Wall and was left rather bemused. But, it's certainly unusual. Too bad there is no recreation of her dances performed on the roofs of NYC. That must have been something to see.

Laurie Anderson I know mostly as an innovative musician, but her visual art was a revelation. Even her handwriting is artistic, perfectly formed letters that could be plucked from cartoons. No surprise then to discover she was a political cartoonist at the university newspaper. Is there nothing this woman can't do? Her drawings for such pieces as The Handphone Table were beautifully wrought, witty and clever.

And then to see the piece below and watch people's reactions to it was fascinating. When I'd arrived, I'd walked right past the cluster of her works, imagining the odd clasping gestures I witnessed to be one of the live performances scheduled. But, no, we were the performers for these pieces, as they were in the interactive section. Laying my head on the Talking Pillow, I heard Anderson whispering to me, while seated at The Handphone Table, hands pressed to my skull, I heard some bass frequencies.

By contrast, Matta-Clark's and Brown's displays were much grander: large-scale installations grounded in urban architecture and movement. Anderson's concerns seem more intimate and wittier and to me, more endearing. Though there was no video, just stills of it, I could well imagine her performing her Duets on Ice on the streets of New York, wearing ice skates encased in ice, playing her violin to passing jaded habitues of the city.

And there was a bit of nostalgia for me in this very New York show. Though much younger than the artists, I well remember the crumbling, grumbling New York City of this time in the early 1970s when The Big Apple was on the verge of bankruptcy. Though it spawned punk, No Wave and a host of counter-cultural movements, it was a difficult time. But, very exciting.

Of course, "downtown New York" meant Manhattan and I lived in the Bronx, oblivious to the world of performance and avant-garde. While Gordon Matta-Clark may have been "dancing with buildings", cutting sections out of them to highlight neglect, I was living a more mundane existence, full of subways, Yankees and the odd teachers strike. It takes a certain detachment to see everyday life as an art project.

When Ida Met Bridget

Earlier in the week I popped into the National Portrait Gallery to check out the new exhibit, tantalisingly titled Ida Kar: Bohemian Photographer, 1908-1974 (actually, having the dates in the title rather spoils the effect). That's quite a promise and the exhibit, to my mind, doesn't live up to the title.

Ida Kar sounds like a fascinating character, born in Moscow, educated in Paris, an established photographer in Cairo before she moved to London in 1945 and opened a gallery with her husband. She worked in several areas of photography, including portraiture and photojournalism. In fact, in some ways, her career paralleled that of Lee Miller, who has also been "rediscovered" after a period of neglect.

But, I didn't have nearly as strong or favourable a response to Kar's work, which occupies one corner of the NPG, divided up into various alcoves, illustrating her different eras, including trips to Havana and eastern Europe.

Much of the exhibit is devoted to her portraits of actors and artists of the mid-20th century, but I found this the dullest section, firstly, because I didn't recognise many of the names (how quickly the famous are forgotten!), but secondly, because they followed a rather staid formula: serious-looking artiste stares down the camera, surrounded by the detritus of his (and they are overwhelmingly male) profession. If he's a writer, he sits at a desk surrounded by books. If he's an artist, he stands by one of his works in a studio. The pictures were perfectly competent, but the subjects seemed rather stiff and self-important. I didn't feel invited into their worlds, fascinating though they may have been.

The one exception to this was a marvellous portrait of Bridget Riley. Positioned between two planes of one of her signature Op art pieces, Riley seems to actually emerge from her own art work and stares up at the camera, looking pensive and ever so slightly vulnerable. Partly, this is owing to the high angle of the shot, which is unusual in Kar's work. But, part of it must be down to something caught between Riley and Kar which is curiously absent from the rest of the show.

By chance I had just seen Riley's exhibit over the road at the National Gallery and was struck by her working methods and her presence in her studio, surrounded by assistants, recorded for a rather stodgy TV feature in 1979. Kar's portrait, shot in 1963, shows her in an earlier phase of her career, a promise of things to come.

BEV: Sound and Silents

Friday night saw a coming together of music and silent film at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, as Birds Eye View (or was it WOW? I got confused) presented four silent films with new live scores.

Of the four, I had only seen Meshes of the Afternoon, and so was intrigued to discover a plethora of old and new work, musical and cinematic. Sometimes I didn't know whether to watch the screen or the stage, as the performers could be quite animated.

First up was Hänsel and Gretel by the German pioneer animator Lotte Reiniger, scored by Micachu, standing behind a bank of computers. This was the toughest pairing for me, with Reiniger's delicate silhouette figures paired with Micachu's industrial squeaks. I wasn't quite sure this worked, but it was bold of Micachu to produce something so unmelodious for a fairy tale.

This was followed by Alexander Hammid's / Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon, scored by Seaming, seated at a keyboard and clutching a clarinet. She added some piercing screams, as well, which was quite dramatic. I was enraptured, both by the film-making innovation (Deren's presentation is strikingly forward-looking) and the score.

Last before the interval was Tara Busch sitting down to another bank of instruments to score Lois Weber's melodrama, Suspense. Busch's music was quite modern, in contrast to the film, which was the most conventional narrative of the bunch.

After the break was the premiere of Imogen Heap's ambitious a cappella score with a 30-plus piece choir for Germaine Dulac's completely wacky surrealist film, La Coquille et le Clergyman. WTF? Heap's score featured hand claps, whistling, and some cooing, as well as conventional singing. In fact, one section was positively jaunty, considering the action on screen featured a priest attempting to strangle his love rival. Marvellous stuff.

Birds Eye View Festival preview

Tomorrow, International Women's Day, sees the premiere of the Birds Eye View festival of women's film-making (albeit missing an apostrophe). Having seen a handful of the films, I think it's a pretty strong bill, featuring features, shorts, live music and some filmmaker Q & As.

Best of the bunch I've seen is Zeina Durra's debut feature, The Imperialists Are Still Alive! The title gives a clue to the film's tongue-in-cheek style. After a standout opening sequence featuring an Arab conceptual artist in New York staging a photo shoot with gun-toting Iraqi women, and champagne-swigging guests in an art gallery discussing a possible CIA rendition of a friend, my mouth was hanging open. The juxtaposition of the deadpan performances with the art-world-meets-global-issues was breathtaking. The film loses its way a bit, but Durra displays a keen eye for irony and sharp social commentary.



Compared to that, Susanne Bier's Oscar-winning drama, In a Better World, was a bit of a disappointment, a melodrama considering masculinity and power in both Africa and rural Denmark. It all goes a bit kitchen-sink-drama, as a troubled boy draws his bullied friend into a revenge fantasy. The scenes in an African refugee camp, in which a Swedish doctor attempts to provide treatment while wrestling with his marital problems, display a problematic issue for western filmmakers: none of the African characters has a name. They are merely types: victims, helpers or warlords. Quite disappointing.

Of the docs, Orgasm Inc. and Women of Hamas are timely and thought-provoking, as well as illustrating the lengths filmmakers will go to get their story out. Israeli filmmaker Suha Arraf was unable to get into Gaza once the border was closed, but enlisted local filmmakers to gather her footage. Liz Canner was working for a pharmaceutical company that was developing a new product for "female sexual dysfunction" when she found herself questioning the party line and embarked on a quest to discover the truth behind the need for this product.

Special events include an appearance by Margarethe von Trotta, who is the filmmaker in focus. Imogen Heap, Micachu and Tara Busch are among the musicians providing live scores to classic silents by Maya Deren and Germaine Dulac in Sound in Silents.

Nesting

Other than Thursday's filmic forays, mostly the last two months have been spent at home, considering various improvement schemes of the personal and business kind. As I've moved around so often since I have been in London, I have fallen into the pragmatism of not bothering to do much decorating of my space. But, since this is the first place I have ever had that actually had room for a division of work and private, I spent a bit of time when I first moved in setting it up, mostly painting and installing shelves for my voluminous boxes, boxes, boxes (someday to be a brilliant book. Or DVD. Or website. We'll see how technology develops over the next millennium).

But, with the council insisting on refurbing my bathroom, I took the opportunity of the disruption (two weeks???!!!) to look at other areas that could use some TLC. Which basically means everything.

So far, before I tweaked my wrist today, I had managed a coat of paint on the foyer and front door (I declined the council's invitation to replace it. If it ain't broke, don't fix it), and finally painting the trim, trim being an option in my mind. Who looks at trim? Really.

Was going to get onto painting the office, but then decided it was well and truly time to tackle the accumulation of dust bunnies. OMG. The dust bunnies. I could knit a large coat with the dust bunnies I unearthed. I also disturbed a family of spiders that have taken up residence between my posters of Governor Ann Richards (RIP) and The Go-Gos reunion album of 1994. I decided it's too cold to rehouse them outdoors, so that web is staying for now. The dust bunnies, though, are well and truly expunged. For now. I am always amazed at the resilience of dust.

The nesting instinct is actually a bit ironic, given that the two months of the Shunda K Challenge ended with me holding the exact same status as before. Although not of a scientific bent, I can still see how there were significiant variables in our approaches to life that might explain the differing results achieved. Then there was the god thing. That wasn't happening. But, all is not lost. I am now creatively visualising clean walls, bright ceilings and shiny floors.

Where Art Meets Commerce

Yesterday provided a double helping of alternative cinema, as I visited Reproductive Labour, Cinenova's exhibit at the Showroom. Running for another three weeks, it offers tiny section of the archive of this longstanding feminist film distributor.

Each day of the exhibit a selection of films is screened. What I hadn't realised until I was in the space was that visitors could also request films. After a brief browse at the display of ephemera from various films in the archive, I settled down to watch Friday's selection, chosen (unseen) by Howard Slater, both on the theme of "father". The Death of the Father and The Father is Nothing both proved to be artful depictions of power and control, made in 1986 and 1991, respectively, quite a fruitful time for feminist film-making. I had a nose through some of the files on show and was amused to see some contained rejections from film festivals and apologies for delayed royalties! Perhaps too revealing. The next three Saturdays feature lectures and more extensive screenings.

That evening it was on to the launch of the 25th London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. Festival launches tend to be little more than extended thank yous to sponsors, interspersed with a few clips to tantalise the punters. This one proved rather more dramatic, as the future of the festival was being loudly debated, first by the announcement of a Facebook campaign to "discuss" the BFI's stewardship and then at the after-party, as the rumour going round was that this is to be the last festival! What? I wondered. Funding cuts to the BFI mean the future of the LLGFF will be assessed between the end of the festival in April and the calendar year, and that comes from BFI director Amanda Nevill.

Which rather cast a pall over what should have been a pretty joyous knees-up. 25 years is pretty good going. This year's festival has been curtailed to one week, because of the missing money, but it still boasts some intriguing films and events, including a preview of The Night Watch and The Owls, a new feature from Cheryl Dunye starring a who's who of dyke cinema.

But, as the volunteers who run Cinenova know, providing a platform for artistic excellence is no guarantee of finding financial support. They haven't had a grant in years.

Best Gig Lineup Ever?

People of Gateshead, rejoice. You are about to be blessed with a superlative bill of punk and post-punk legends. Yes, Gina Birch, Viv Albertine and Helen McCookerybook are packing their gear into the latter's car (road trip!) to play Friday night at The Central Bar, there to be joined by Pauline Murray. Wow!!! Wish I could be there. It's rockin' oop north.

The Buddha of Shoreditch

Where does Shoreditch end and Hoxton begin? That's the question I asked myself as I trudged up and down the L-E-N-G-T-H of Curtain Road looking in vain for the elusive Queen of Hoxton public house. "It must be at the top end, near Hoxton," my logical brain told me. Nope. "Uh, then it must be by the bottom end, close to Liverpool Street," came the reply. Yes, there it was, sort of where I started some 25 minutes earlier, at the end of a rather long day, after a rather long weekend.

The occasion was Cover Wars, a live competition to redesign the cover of The Buddha of Suburbia, Hanif Kureishi's novel, courtesy of YARN, the multidisciplinary festival in its second year. I was curious to see what live cover-designing involved, and as Kureishi was also reading, thought it would be an interesting test of multi-tasking.

So, down the stairs I trooped, emerging into the darkened bar to find a veritable frenzy of activity, with two artists on-stage, beavering away at their easels, while compere/festival producer Gemma Mitchell verbally prodded them along, and Kureishi sat in the front row, occasionally offering a comment. He was put to work, coming on-stage to judge the efforts, reading some passages from the book and also signing in between judging rounds.

Alas, I had to leave before the tension-racked finale, but I must say I disagreed with the judges' choice in the first round. Fix!

Le Cinema des Femmes presents True Homance

This month's LCdF screening, True Homance, celebrates female friendship in its most precious form: the homance. OK, so that's a bit of a trendy-street-slang word, but nonetheless it gets the job done. For a thoughtful consideration that takes in Daphne and Velma AND Oprah and Gayle, see my colleague Annette's post on the subject.

The films are Ghost World and Romy and Michele's High School Reunion. Rumours of broken-heart cookies and BFF badges have yet to be confirmed...

Free Duke Spirit gig on Friday

Should you be in London this Friday, the 18th, it may be worth making the journey down Tooting way to check out The Duke Spirit at Remedy.

Here's a LiveBuzz performance they did of "Surrender" last year.

PJ Harvey on BBC 6Music

Today is Queen Polly (!) Day on 6Music. Don't know if she is a royalist, but PJ Harvey is getting some much-earned love from the station, ahead of the release of her new concept (!) album, Let England Shake. Tracks from the record are being played throughout the day, and she is also in conversation with Steve Lamacq after 16:00. Should be cool. I have only heard snippets, but it sounds as if she is pursuing an entirely new sound. Always worth hearing.

Here's the second in a series of videos, accompanying the album.

Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under

What do you do when stuck in the house? Well, review downloads, OBVIOUSLY. Don't know why I didn't think of it before. I downloaded this last week and my first listen of it was punctuated by loud mobile phone conversations from my bathroom occupants. I have now given it my undivided attention and my reaction is much the same as the first, distracted listen: very patchy.

Amanda Palmer is an undeniable force (one blogger referred to her as a phonomancer--had to look up the word, I admit). Her gig last year about this time in Vienna stands out as one of the best I have ever attended. She had such a strong connection with the audience, such mastery of stagecraft and such a great catalogue of songs, it was truly inspirational. And she is not above playing to the gallery, dotting her repertoire with site-specific songs and garnering big love points.

So, to Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under, her love letter to the people of Australia and New Zealand, which has come out..... just as she started a tour of Australia and NZ. Imagine that! Now, an album of songs about either of those countries could be great. As could a live gig recorded there. Or an album of songs written in those countries. What Palmer has opted for is a mish-mash of all three. Hmm.

There's the Nick Cave cover, "The Ship Song", that closes the album. A few songs recorded at a Sydney Opera House gig. And then songs that may or may not have a connection to her surroundings, such as "In My Mind" and the intense piano ballad, "On an Unknown Beach".

My personal favourite is "Vegemite (the Black Death)", which is f___ing hilarious. And topical. And recorded live at the Sydney Opera House, and therefore gets a lot of laughs from its target audience. Win all around. Unfortunately, nothing else on the album (12 songs, including a Vegemite commercial sung by the audience) really matches that, although "Map of Tasmania" is pretty special.

Now that she is free of her hated record deal, Palmer can record and release whatever and whenever she wants. And she certainly seems to be having a whale of a time in Australia, as her blog attests. Maybe she will do another round of recording and release a more cohesive album.

Until then, enjoy "Map of Tasmania" (now with added Peaches!).

Homework

I've not been getting out much, so have little arts news to report (ah, being skint--it's like a permanent staycation). Granted, I have bit of a Brutalist installation going on in my bathroom, complete with AM radio, drilling and Russian accents, an exciting melding of form and function. But, that is only temporary and strictly private view.

I have also reached the midway point of my Shunda K challenge. No sign of any vows or even a Joy of Cooking. But, I have acquired a copy of the Qu'ran, shrink-wrapped, which seemed, eh, contradictory. #thingsI'vebeenhandedinthemarket

Mysteries of the Universe #46

How is it that my scrupulously vegetarian flat smells of corned beef?

My New Look

These fists of fury belong to none other than your humble pacifist scribe. I have never had a tattoo (sensitive skin), but perhaps this will inspire me to reinvent myself as a hard woman. Thanks to Annette for the spiffing ink work.

This Sunday: Revenge Is Sweet

It's the first outing of 2011 for the Cinema des Femmes collective's monthly events, and this time it's all about pinky violence.

It's a genre that's new to me, but one of our number is quite keen and the trailers certainly look entertaining: sword fights, punch-ups and plenty of flesh on show. Ah, yes, it's one of those 1970s sexploitation cult genres that divides opinion. Seeing as we are coming from a feminist POV, we are looking at the upside: powerful women standing up for themselves and not taking any BS. Naturally, there are dissenting opinions on this. I had a look online to find a feminist analysis of PV, but couldn't find anything, alas. (edit: ask and ye shall receive. )

The two films we are showing are Female Prisoner 701: Scorpion + Sex and Fury.

So, prison drama and pick-pocketing!

The CdF gals are going to dress up as a biker gang and are busy coordinating our outfits. Looking forward to it. It's this Sunday at the Horatia in London. Full deets.

Women's Voices from the Muslim World

Here's a collection of 98 films showing online, in which women from predominantly Muslim countries share stories: from a bus driver in Iran to a would-be sunglasses purchaser in Afghanistan. The films are in competition ahead of the Women's Voices Now festival in March in Los Angeles. View and vote.

RIP Trish Keenan

Just heard the horrible news Trish Keenan of Broadcast has died, after a struggle with swine flu. Details are extremely sketchy, and I don't even know how old she was, but certainly she went way too soon.

I first heard Broadcast through John Peel's show on Radio 1 in the 1990s and always found them a wonderfully atmospheric outfit, utterly lacking in the trappings of celebritism required to achieve mainstream success. That their first EP was called The Booklovers said it all.

Sadly, I only had one abortive opportunity to see them live, interrupted by grotesquely lesbophobic venue security, so left without enjoying the show.

Here is Broadcast in action in happier times:

London Short Film Festival

This one always creeps up on me, coming as it does so early in the new year. But, there is a plethora of interesting screenings in store, among them Queer Brit, Salon des Refusés, and Straight 8.

Among the live events are two that pique my interest. Firstly, the unwieldily titled Club des Femmes and Spinster Take New Berlin, which pairs a feature film with some live performance.

Also in the music + film arena is Whirlygig Cinema & The Cabinet of Living Cinema Present: Making Tracks, in which films are presented with live scores. I have participated in Whirlygig events in the past, but not, sadly, this time. Should be exciting, as the filmmakers will not have heard the scores until they are performed on the night.

London Short Film Festival runs 7-16 January in London.

Creative Visualisation

Have just had a marvellously entertaining Skype chat with Shunda K, some of which will go out on my show next week.

What stayed with me (aside from her amusing habit of calling me "Ms. Val"--perhaps I should insist on this honorific in my daily life) was the extraordinary story of how she met her wife. I won't give all of it away, aside from saying that she turned to God and promised to remain celibate for two months. I can't promise this works for everyone.

Indeed, I hadn't given a moment's thought to finding a wife, but, given that it's a new year and I have made no resolutions, I may conduct an experiment, in the interests of science, you understand.

I well remember my older sister being given a copy of The Joy of Cooking on her 21st birthday and exclaiming: "Now I don't have to get married!"

Perhaps I should visualise The Joy of Cooking.

2010 Moments

While I am still not keen on lists, I do have a few memories to share from 2010.

Favourite film: The Arbor. Clio Barnard's experimental documentary may have attracted attention for its miming technique, but what stuck with me was the raw emotion extracted from the audio interviews.

Favourite exhibit: Gender Check at MuMok, Vienna. So huge, so expansive, it was almost draining, but this survey exhibit of gender expression in Eastern European art was awesome to behold.

Favourite song: "Found Love in a Graveyard", by Veronica Falls. It came out at the start of the year, but kept coming back. And it still sounds great.

Favourite album: City Splits #1: Berlin. A slight cheat, as it presents two bands--Jasmina Maschina and Golden Diskó Ship--from one city on one record, but this was one of my favourite spins of the year. A delightful rainy Sunday afternoon record.

Favourite gig: Amanda Palmer at Arena, Vienna. One woman, one keyboard, one ukulele. Mind-blowing.

Favourite random moment: AGF singing "Bau Auf Bau Auf" to me over Skype.

And it only remains for me to wish all eine bessere Zukunft.

Mounting frustration

Was hoping to wrap up the year with some work on my various unfinished film projects, which live on an external hard drive that I carry with me to various public access sites, as I don't own a Mac.

Alas, last week the hard drive disconnected itself from its partner and steadfastly refuses to show its face or mount, as it's known. Cue visits to the shadowy world of the internet forum to check on this phenomenon and discover it is, sadly, quite common for this particular brand of external hard drive. And the company is not actually that helpful, to boot.

I am not giving up on my external hard drive, yet, but as I do not actually own the requisite computer to connect it to, it will have to wait some weeks to make another visit and get, I hope, reacquainted. The tension mounts (or doesn't, yet).

The Yvonne Rainer Project

Hopped on down to the Southbank Centre on Sunday to visit the ongoing Yvonne Rainer exhibit and specifically see some films that were only on show over the weekend. What I thought were her films turned out to be "Yvonne Rainer + artists' films". Hence, over an 80-minute period I only caught about 30 seconds of one of her films and it was one I'd seen before. Doh! Ah, well. Some of them were interesting, one was brilliant and quite a few were way too lo-o-ong. Ah, artists' films. Gotta love 'em. Sadly, can't really review them properly as most had no titles and I could not match up the films viewed to the descriptions in the programme. Ah, artists' films. Gotta love 'em x2.

So, to the ongoing exhibit. Well, there are three installations on view in the Gallery. Of these, I had a whale of a time at the circular work, After Many a Summer DIes the Swan: Hybrid, 2002. In this, a raised projector rotates 360 degrees, and the viewer follows the action by sitting in the centre. But, here's the fun part. The seat is a kind of Space hopper on wheels! Such fun. I was spinning all over the shop. If a group went, it would be like bumper cars. Awesome. The actual projections are quite enjoyable, as Rainer muses on the early 20th century avant-garde in Vienna.

The other two pieces in the Gallery were of less interest to me, being videos of some dance pieces she produced. Quite the multi-skiller is Ms. Rainer: filmmaker, choreographer, et al. I am not intimately familiar with her work, but her name crops up all over discussions of feminist cinema and art, and I found her role as the roller-skating artist in Madame X - an absolute ruler quite amusing.

Some of Rainer's own films, including Journeys from Berlin and The Man Who Envied Women, are on show at the BFI throughout December while an excerpt from Lives of Performers is on show in the Atrium.

The Yvonne Rainer Project continues at the Southbank Centre through 23 January 2011.

This Sunday: Growing Pains

Le Cinema des Femmes presents GROWING PAINS: a celebration of teenage angst, American-style.

Relive those high school memories of heartbreak, hormones, fitting in, and coming out… as we bring you two classic movies featuring implausibly white-toothed teens experiencing the
agony of adolescence:

BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER [1999]
A girl sent to a sexuality re-programming camp gains unexpected insights. Directed by Jamie Babbit.

+

SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL [1987]
An age-old tale of unrequited love, teenage longing and questionable outfits, directed by the late John Hughes.

Bring your steady squeeze and snuggle into the back row for some heavy petting!

Plus:
Popcorn!
Cakes!
Zines!

And a very special DJ set from The Girls Are's Annette Barlow, who'll be spinning teen angst anthems til late.

Dress code: High school archetypes
(Think: freaks vs geeks, jocks vs goths, cheerleaders vs do-gooders)

£4 entry

Sunday 12th December - from 5pm
The Horatia
98-102 Holloway Road
London N7 8JE
(Nearest tubes: Highbury & Islington, Holloway Road)

First Snowfall

How surprised was I to awake this morning to find snow falling! Though I knew Scotland has been deluged since the weekend, I didn't think it would make it this far south. Cue frantic scrabbling for winter boots. Perhaps it is time to put the bulbs out for their ever-so-brief yearly appearance.

Some things never change: while the roads were perfectly clear, the pavements were slippy and slushy. Last winter I took to walking down the middle of the road to avoid ice. Once I was even called upon to rescue an elderly woman. No sign of snow-bound pedestrians yet. But, it's only November.

UnderWire Festival

The inaugural UnderWire festival of women's short film work is in full swing and concludes tomorrow with an awards ceremony.

Visiting the third day of the festival, I caught the Editing and Directing categories, preceded by a lecture by screenwriter Linda Aronson. Speaking in rather non-linear fashion, she offered some anecdotes from her career and then moved on to a suitably convoluted explanation of parallel narrative structure. This was, unfortunately, rushed, owing to time constraints, but she has some books out that would shed some more light on a fascinating topic. Her message: don't be afraid of flashbacks!

Next up was the the Directing category of five films, the standout of which was The Storymaker. An atmospheric and increasingly creepy set-up finds a bedridden woman delivering unintelligible thoughts to a group of Expressionist-looking scribes. At first I thought it was a wry commentary on artistic inspiration. But, then I decided it was a metaphor for Alzheimer's or some other degenerative illness. Visually striking and gripping, it lingered in the memory. Marigolds was also memorable for its cringe-making mother-son relationship. The climactic scene had audience members gasping and laughing in discomfort.

In the Editing category, I was impressed by Skateistan, a doc on a skate park in Kabul and also liked Dear Mummy, a clever mix of live action and animation.

The awards ceremony for the various categories is tomorrow evening .

Ladyfest Ten: day three

So, finally, the thrilling conclusion of a three-day epic. A not so early start didn't really help me catch up on sleep, but I was ready to go for the afternoon start of the film programme, which started with a workshop on DIY film-making, courtesy of Kanchi Wichmann, who shared clips from her forthcoming feature, Break My Fall.

I had to run up to the Resource Centre to check on the other film-making workshop, which was actually due to start later, so I wasn't around for the whole slot, but returned in time to deal with some DVD burning drama, which meant we had to switch around our second programme, running the feature Too Much Pussy before the three shorts that accompanied it. I kept expecting someone from the library to walk in during what was a very sexually explicit, very queer doc on a performance troupe's tour. Very funny to screen that in a public library.

With our work as the film group done by 5:15, we were free to enjoy what remained of the festival, and I spent a very enjoyable hour listening in on a beatboxing workshop run by Gracious B, who had performed on Friday night and blown me away with her vocal percussion prowess.

After a brief rest, it was on to the Garage for what was billed as lo-fi day, which I found amusing. For me it was more like post-punk day, with a bill featuring Viv Albertine, Tender Trap, Wet Dog and Trash Kit. For me, Viv Albertine was the undoubted highlight, offering more connection with the audience and some very personal songs, delivered in spiky and forceful style. The closer was a slow-burning indictment of married life, from one who knows. Wow. After that, the kids just couldn't compete, though I enjoyed the racket they made.

After a quick group photo, our film group scattered to the four winds. Life just won't be the same without Ladyfest.

Ladyfest Ten: day two

Wow. Wow. Wow. So tired I can barely type, but will do a quick recap of Saturday, which started at 10 with me not taking the Victoria line to Highbury, because of engineering works. Instead negotiated a replacement bus (or Ersatzbus as we have taken to calling it) and a tube, so was a bit late.

Had a brief chat with Gabriella Apicella of UnderWire film festival on the paucity of decent women characters onscreen, then took a DVD up to the Holloway Resource Centre and crashed a Queer Health workshop, but not before I sptted a familiar face and had a reunion with Lena, formerly of Ilsebill, but now studying in Loughborough and down in London for the weekend. Then it was back to the library screening room for Tina Gharavi's narrative screenwriting workshop, where we learned to make cliches our friend, so that we can subvert them.

After a super-quick turnaround, it was time for the headline act: JD Samson introducing Le Tigre: On Tour. This had taken awhile to arrange and we were all relieved when she strode in, accompanied by Ginger from MEN and other friends. It fell to me to do the introduction and run the Q & A as my colleagues were too shy. Aside from one ill-fated mention of Christina Aguilera, I think it went OK. And I also grabbed a quick interview with JD for my radio show. Amazingly, we finished early and were able to exit the library, without being shoved out by security.

Thereafter, I watched the excellent bill at the Garage, consisting of Veronica Falls; Vile, Vile Creatures (who lent MEN a guitar when a string broke); Battant; Nicky Click; and headliners MEN (JD's other band), which left me quite energised, although security there were needlessly brusque. MEN proved a revelation, as the two songs I'd heard had left me underwhelmed. But, live it worked really well, the throbby bass lines and beats lifting the energy, while frontwoman JD proved equally adept at working her computer and the crowd. She also wished Ladyfest a happy tenth birthday, which went down, not surprisingly, quite well.

One more day.

Ladyfest Ten: day one

Just back from a buzzing evening at the Horatia, watching some fantastic UK hip-hop as part of Ladyfest Ten. I only caught a few acts, but I was really impressed by Patricia Panther and Lykez, two acts who couldn't be more different in presentation but are marvellously entertaining to watch. Whereas Lykez is all streetwise teenaged cockney attitude, Patricia Panther offers a soulful Glaswegian take on beats and rhymes. I was positively energised.

Which is saying something, as I had a heavy dose of Ladystress when I turned up at the film venue for our opening programme. We had a few last-minute hicccups and were not entirely prepared when we opened our doors. But, we had an awesome bill of films, and Kim Longinotto turned in a mighty fine introduction to her film, Divorce Iranian Style. I imagine she must've introed this film hundreds of times since its production in 1998, and the Islington Central Library is not the most glamourous locale for a screening. But, she was very thoughtful and entertaining in providing some context for it and got everyone well warmed up to see it. Hurrah.

I mostly stayed at the library during the day but did pop over to the Horatia briefly to see the Big Debate panel, as I was keen to see Viv Albertine. It was pretty much winding up, but I did catch a few comments by her to the effect that she feels like girls are more clued up than they are given credit for, and pop culture isn't necessarily detrimental to their development.

Back to the library for some more screenings and we just made it out the door at 5pm, having discovered very late that one of our filmmakers had been sitting there all day without introducing herself! Most unlike a filmmaker, not to shout from the rooftops. Verv sweet.

My proudest moment came watching the Ten Years of Grrrls Creating Culture doc that our group curated from past Ladyfests. Seeing some of my lo-res footage and stills mixed in was very pleasing. I finally feel part of Ladyfest and it makes me think I must have been doing something right these last 20 years.

Two days to go.

Ladyfest Ten this weekend in London

So, it's finally, finally here. I have been immersed over the last couple of months in the film group for Ladyfest Ten, which is on this weekend in London.

Things I have experienced in the organisation of Ladyfest Ten:

• unravelled the mysteries of the Ning

• created spreadsheets

• uploaded Google Docs

• applied zombie make-up

• baked chocolate cakes

• accosted a filmmaker at the London Film Festival

• encouraged a colleague to accost a musician at a club

• got locked in a house

• scoured my archive for film, photos and audio

• discussed codecs, at length

Ah, the magic of Ladyfest.

Femme Fatalities

Ladyfest Ten presents... Le Cinema des Femmes: FEMME FATALITIES Halloween Horror Movie Double Feature!

Indulge in some HANGOVER HORROR this Halloween Sunday and join us for a film double bill featuring our favourite fiendish femmes and grotesque grrls!

Ginger Snaps + Jennifer's Body

Get zombied up, neck down some Bloody Marys and get ready to hide behind the sofa cushions!

Plus:
Popcorn!
Cakes!
Zines!
Raffle!

And a very special DJ set from the gruesome GIRL GERMS!

Sunday 31st October
From 4pm
The Victoria Inn, Mile End
£4 suggested donation – all proceeds go to Ladyfest Ten

LFF: Power, Lies and Corruption

My final instalment from this year's London Film Festival focusses on two very different films that highlight the dangers of the abuse of power.

Sabina Guzzanti's excoriating documentary, Draquila, Italy Trembles, takes as its starting point the devastating 2009 earthquake that led to the abandonment of the Italian town of Aquila. But, as the film makes clear, much of the devastation was due to the incompetence or possibly abuse of power of the country's Civil Protection Service, under the direct control of controversial prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi. Guzzanti's disaffection with Berlusconi is well-known, and she has satirised him on numerous occasions. This film, though a polemic, is well-made and forceful in its criticism of his government's actions or, rather, inaction, in warning the town's residents of impending disaster and then effectively requisitioning the town for development, using emergency powers. The film then delves deeper into Berlusconi's construction background and unsavoury connections. Reminiscent of Michael Moore's salvos at ex-president Bush, the film is by turns funny and very, very sad. Clearly, Guzzanti feels Berlusconi is destroying the fabric of Italian society and her conclusion is not optimistic.

From Draquila to "tranquilo", the much-repeated interjection in Carancho, the latest drama from the Pablo Trapero-Martina Gusman team, he directing, she producing and starring. While I very much enjoyed Lion's Den, another collaboration by the couple, Carancho fell short of my expectations. Starting out as a tense character study of Gusman's ambulance worker and Ricardo Darin's "vulture" (ambulance-chasing lawyer), the film degenerated in the last quarter into an absurd bloodbath, with gun battles and multiple car crashes that defied credulity. A shame. But, it also made clear the insidious influence of crime bosses on the burgeoning compensation free-for-all in Buenos Aires, in which poor people are pushed into staging accidents in return for paltry sums. The Trapero-Gusman message in this film seems to be that inhumanity is only a step away for even the most superficially honest.

LFF: The Kids Aren't All Right

No, I didn't attend last night's Gala Premiere of Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids Are All Right, sadly, but I have viewed several films that detail complicated teenaged lives.

Spork (dir JB Ghuman Jr.) is a quirky US slacker-ish comedy, curiously '90s in feel, with an outsider heroine, bullied at school for being dorky and intersex. Her tormentors include a group of Britney-alikes (very Heathers), while her few allies number the fat Asian kid and the sassy black chick. A bit pat, that, but there is some originality to be had, as Spork (the name cruelly bestowed by the bullies) tries to regain some self respect via the unlikely medium of krumping. An utterly implausible ending doesn't quite spoil the film's charms, grotesque humour chief among them.

Elisa K is much more sombre in tone, its heroine burying memories of a childhood rape by a family friend, until she reaches adulthood and suddenly remembers. Her breakdown quickly descends into bathos, and the ending is left unresolved.

Pretty Girls Make Graves, a shorts programme featuring convention-defying girls, was disappointingly uneven, but, for me, the clear standout was the comedy Release the Flying Monkeys, in which two Albanian girls perform exorcisms among the sinners of London, hoping to bring them closer to Jesus. Laugh-out-loud funny and irreverent, the film punctures religious posturing in engaging style. Most of the other films I found a bit too self-consciously arty to be fathomable, but That Thing You Drew also drew laughs, as an uncomprehending girl causes havoc in her school with her choice of artistic subject. Kids, eh?

LFF: Female Empowerment

A spate of films has focussed on the put-upon woman, the wife or mother who is taken for granted, the servile worker or the discarded woman. Interesting.

Among these is the Argentine drama, Puzzle, in which Maria spends her 50th birthday party picking up after her nearest and dearest. It is only the next morning that she gets around to opening her presents, among them a jigsaw puzzle that catches her attention, with its image of Nefertiti. Perhaps seeking a bit of the queen's power, she immerses herself in the world of puzzles, eventually hooking up with (in multiple senses) another puzzle aficionado. Beautifully shot in rich sepia tones and with a subtle performance by Maria Onetto as Maria, this is a quiet film to savour.

Not so the knockabout French farce, Copacabana, featuring Isabelle Huppert as a boho out-of-work mother beset with an ungrateful snob of a daughter (Huppert's daughter Lolita Chammah) and seeking to make amends by taking work in unlovely Ostend flogging timeshares. The mother-daughter relationship is fraught with perils and Huppert is clearly enjoying throwing herself into various undignified scenarios that mortify her priggish offspring.

Sawako Decides is an odd film, ostensibly a comedy but for the first two-thirds a rather grim depiction of the life of a Japanese slacker, Sawako, who leaves an unfulfilling life in big-city Tokyo to move back to her small village to salvage the family clam-packing business. In tow are her unbelievably dull boyfriend and his semi-mute daughter. The early scenes of Sawako behaving much as a doormat are rather excruciating and one waits and waits for the promised "female empowerment" of the press notes. But.... two scenes very late on are worth the wait. One, in which Sawako rewrites the company song for the female workers to sing, is a moment of cinematic genius and should be excerpted as a music video. The other, the denouement, features much scenery chewing and unorthodox distribution of human remains. Grotesque humour, female rivalry and a rather twee central performance from Hikari Mitsushima make this a tough but rewarding journey.

RIP Ari Up

I was quite shocked to check my emails this morning and learn of the passing of Ari Up, singer with The Slits. Legendary band, legendary singer and so full of life, it seems incredible to think she could be gone at only 48. I only saw her perform once, but she was an extraordinary character, following her muse and her dreams all over the globe. Not many can say that.

LFF: The Arbor

Just back from amazing film sort of based on the life of playwright Andrea Dunbar and her writings. The Arbor combines real-life interviews with her friends and family, with readings from her play The Arbor. But it is done in such an artful and moving way, that it is completely gripping. And the story of her eldest child, Lorraine, is heartbreaking. I almost didn't see the film, but am still pondering it several hours later.

London Film Festival: weekend one

Five days into the festival, I can't yet say how it is shaping up. But the standout for me so far is definitely The Taqwacores. Adapted from Michael Muhammad Knight's novel about a group of punky Muslims living in a shabby group house in Buffalo, the film is a multifaceted look at how people negotiate "mismatching disenfranchised subcultures", as Mohawked punk visionary Jehangir (Dominic Rains in an astonishing performance) puts it. As naive student Yusuf moves into this house, he encounters many stripes of Islam, from strict adherents to the rather startling character of Rabeya, a burqa-clad Riot Grrl-ish character. Quite the eye opener for him and the audience. What is most interesting is that an actual taqwacore scene has emerged as a result of Knight's imaginings, and some of the bands that appear in this work of fiction are actually real performers.

Somewhat less rebellious is the doc on Creation Records, Upside Down. While I was quite looking forward to seeing the now-dead indie label recounted, I was not really looking forward to seeing footage of Oasis. Or Boo Radleys. Or indeed 18 Wheeler or Arnold. And, actually, there was no mention of either of the latter two bands touted by label co-founder Alan McGee, long since mythologised as a tastemaker of the highest order. Even though he signed Oasis. The film is largely a hagiography of McGee, featuring endless shots of him sporting a ridiculous fedora, the most ill-advised piece of baldness-hiding headgear since The Edge discovered his beanie. While truly visionary bands such as My Bloody Valentine are given short shrift, McGee's chum Bobby Gillespie is lionised as some kind of genius. Nonsense.

Also viewed were Howl, the rather limp docudrama on Allen Ginsberg's groundbreaking poem. The film can't decide if it's a courtroom drama depicting an obscenity case or a stream of consciousness riff on artistic inspiration. And it works as neither, despite the striking animation that backdrops the rather dull recitations of Ginsberg's poem by actor James Franco. Most disappointing.

Considerably upping the nailbiting stakes is The Orion, a tense guerrilla-shot drama depicting the consequences of a sexual encounter between two unmarried people in modern Iran. As the couple struggle to "undo" the damage to their reputations via backroom surgery, they come up against the very restrictive law at work in the country. Truly disturbing.

Recycled Words

Just back from a brief road trip on the boneshaker, testing out if I can still ride the thing. I picked a good day--sunny, mild, a gentle breeze and very impressive foliage changes taking place. I also diced with death, ducking under the 5 foot head railway bridge on Coppermill Lane. Definitely this should be entered as an Olympic sport. Imminent decapitation would add an element of thrill-seeking to the cycling events. Now weak at the knees and in need of a soak.

Oh, tomorrow is the 82nd anniversary of the publication of Virginia Woolf's novel, Orlando, which I celebrated in my radio show this week. In the course of my research, I found some archive audio of her speaking about words. I might not chosen some of her Victorian-era language, but her thoughts are fascinating.

Callout for films for Ladyfest Ten

Ladyfest Ten has issued two callouts for film. One is a general callout for short films.

The other is for archive footage from previous Ladyfests.

Celebrating the tenth anniversary of Ladyfest, Ladyfest Ten takes place 12-14 November in London.

Deptford X

Deptford X, which declares itself "London's foremost contemporary visual arts festival", returns tonight for a ten-day run in sunny south London. The full programme is online, but last night I interrupted artist-unlicensed architect Mitch McEwen as she wired up her installation Black Site #2 at the Old Police Station before the opening tonight.

Based in New York, McEwen works with spaces and how people think about them. For this work, she has re-created a full size representation of a black site used by the CIA for interrogating prisoners. We had a bit of a chat, will go out next week on Odd Girl Out, but McEwen explained her starting point was imagining that the CIA asked her to design such a site. Basing her construction on legal depositions given to the ACLU, McEwen used plywood to construct a cell draped with transducers, used to pump music in to induce sleep deprivation. With a laugh, she acknowledged that visitors to the installation will not experience anything like the discomfort of the real thing, but the work questions the relationship between military and civilian society.

Surround Sound

This week I have been immersed in archive tape, sorting through various interviews to use to mark my 20th anniversary in journalism. I wanted to share a selection of clips from my encounters with amazing women in a range of creative pursuits--mostly music, but also writing, film and other, uncategorisable, fields.

It's pretty daunting: how to choose? How to edit? How to present? I am looking at doing a series of short clips for my show and then putting them up online.

This week I tried out a five-channel option on Soundtrack Pro. It's designed for a five-speaker surround sound effect, but I just listened on headphones and rather liked the panning, albeit with several tracks competing for attention.

Recently, I had an interesting conversation with someone who does video interviews and she said she always found audio a bit uncomfortable, a bit too intimate. "That's what I like about it," I replied. I find audio a delightful medium. I like the immediacy, the closeness and the mystery of the unseen. Conducting a one-to-one conversation is one of life's great joys. A pity so many regard audio as the unwanted stepchild of video.

Flying Squirrel

Back in London on a busy Saturday afternoon, catching up on errands, I spot a rather panicked squirrel dodging traffic in a busy high street. Concerned, I watch its progress until it disappears behind a wall. "Mum! A squirrel!" pipes up a small boy ahead of me. The squirrel has now raced up the cement railing of a staircase of a block of flats.

Realising it is no closer to safety, it turns 90 degrees and, before my wondering eyes, makes a flying leap off the staircase, landing on the concrete of the front yard. It must be 3m high and a distance of 4m. Ouch. More to-ing and fro-ing before it returns to the relative shelter of the small shrublike tree of a side road.

Looking about, I realise how few tall trees are in this street. But, another five minutes' (human) walk takes me to a beautiful expansive tree, bursting with branches and shade. Squirrel Paradise.

Dual Action

Another double dose, as I took in two gigs in one evening, albeit just around the corner from one another. Missy magazine's relaunch was held at the ever-so-secretive West Germany, a venue which displays the abundant charm of a distressed dentist's waiting room, but books some fantastic acts. I was there to see opener Golden Disko Ship, having missed her gigs in London some months back. Time was of the essence as I wanted to check out Ich bin ein Berliner at SO36 later that night.

As it happened, GDS took the stage just after 11pm, slipping into her gigwear of poker cap and sparkly top, as she addressed her computer keyboard. Not sure of the significance of this look, but perhaps it gets her in the mood. The performance was a marvel of multi-tasking as she worked in guitar, violin, squeezebox and assorted other musical paraphernalia. I thought the images projected on the screen behind her really worked, adding to the ambience. Or maybe it was the sparkly top.

Then it was on to the fabled SO36, which I had never, ever visited. I found it surprisingly posy, as if one had wandered onto the set of the Blitz Club, ca 1983. Great sound and lights, though. I needn't have worried about time, because I was there early enough to see the opening acts, but I was keen to see Mona Mur and En Esch, who absolutely rocked. The live show very much lets the album off its leash, even if a lot of the music comes from a computer. They also had a live drummer, which helps. Mur is the quintessential show-woman, all aggression and blood lust, while guitarist Esch is an unusual mixture of menace and knock-kneed geekiness. Set-closer "Die Ballade vom Ertrunkenen Mädchen" was the icing on the cake.

Family Gatherings

Two gatherings in a space of 15 hours in extremely chilly Berlin: the Queer Punk Thingy in Kreuzberg and Suppe und Mucke in Friedrichshain. The first was at the long-standing Köpi project and featured an array of bands, performance artists and a film programme catering to the queer punkerati.

First stop was a showing of Taxi zum Klo, viewed from extremely uncomfortable benches in freezing conditions. It's December in September! Then off to see a coprophilic performance duo, then some electro pop with glitter. All in all, a fine evening's entertainment, even if now I find myself flagging where once I got a second wind. Am I still a night person?


The next day was a blur of strollers, face-painting and long queues for soup at the Kiez event Suppe und Mucke. I don't know whose idea it was to mix soup and music, but, hey, why not? Didn't actually sample much of either, but for mere minutes the sun shone and it almost seemed like summer.