LLGFF: Out of the Blue + Untouchable Girls

Out of the Blue (dir Alain Tasma)

The Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls (dir Leanne Pooley)

Just to round off my rather patchy coverage of this year's festival, owing to unfortunate restrictions on time, etc., here are a couple of uplifting pieces, one drama, one doc.

Out of the Blue is a French drama about Marion, a woman who leaves her husband, sets up house and then meets an intriguing younger woman. But, the course of true love never runs smooth, owing to a jealous ex who can't let go and the brattiest teenager I have seen committed to film in a long time. Much melodrama and waving of arms ensues. Will Marion have the courage to commit to her new life?

The Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls, about New Zealand's yodelling lesbian sisters, is a well-made doc showing their lives through music and a series of unfortunate haircuts (well, they started out in the '70s) right up until a triumphant home-town show. I was aware of the Topps, having seen them at some US womyn's music festival years ago, but I had no idea how big they were in their homeland, even helping force through gay rights legislation. So, it's reassuring to see them getting their due. I'm not a big fan of yodelling, but I was impressed by their incredible repartee, honed since, well, birth.

LLGFF: Gender Variant

Riot Acts: Flaunting Gender Deviance in Music Performance (dir Madsen Minax)

The Last Summer of La Boyita (dir Julia Solomonoff)

Although the LLGFF lags a bit behind the times in remaining L and G, rather than expanding to LGBTQI (have I missed any acronyms???), there is an increasing number of transgender-related films in the programme, including these, the first a doc on gender-variant musicians in the USA (and one in Canada), the second a thoughtful Argentina-set drama.

While the musicians in Riot Acts are public performers, performing in bars, clubs and at festivals, they are also managing quite private situations, sometimes still transitioning or changing identity. Some are on testosterone, some are still getting to grips with changes in vocal range or quality, wondering how their efforts to synchronise their bodies and minds will affect their music. I was particularly impressed with the low-key dignity of Joe from Coyote Grace, an acoustic duo from Sonoma, CA. Joe had a particularly interesting story: he got together with his musical and life partner as a woman and then transitioned, meaning their personal and private lives had to go through a shift. They still play lesbian bars, causing him to reflect: "Why should that be a surprise? I love being here."

No such self-knowledge for Mario, the rural, teenaged farmhand in The Last Summer of La Boyita. Worked as hard as the horses by his brutish father, he finds a friend in Jorgelina, who visits with her father, the farm's owner, for a summer and discovers it isn't just her older sister who is going through the full range of growing pains, including developing breasts and menstruating. Unfortunately, for Mario, rural Argentina isn't the greatest place to be gender-variant, and the story is painful to watch as it plays out, unfolding slowly, with layers of meaning being unwrapped. It reminded me a bit of XXY, with the teenaged character showing far more poise and dignity than the adults. Perhaps there is a bit of a boom in such stories in Argentina.

LLGFF: Reclamation

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains (dir Lou Adler)

Christopher Strong (dir Dorothy Arzner)


I'm all for reclaiming lost films and assessing them in the light of modernity. Certainly, last night, having viewed these two, I am full of thoughts, some contradictory. It's also sobering to think how little has changed, in some ways, since these two films were shot and released.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains was presented under the auspices of Unskinny Bop and is obviously one of their favourites and cited by many bloggers as proto-Riot Grrrl, so I was looking forward to my first viewing of it. Odd I have never seen it, as though it had a small release in 1982, apparently it has gained most of its cult status from repeated cable viewings in the '80s. I did have access to cable TV in the '80s but never caught it. Too busy watching Radio 1990, I guess.

Well, what to say? There is so much right about this film, from its portrayal of disaffected teenaged girls from small towns seeking escape, to its portrayal of a cynical and manipulative music industry, to its hilarious depiction of British bands taking to the road for their big breakthrough US tours becoming disillusioned. (How many times does Paul Simonon ask: "When do we get to California?")

But, feminist? Proto-Riot Grrrl? I don't think so. Diane Lane's Corinne Burns sets off with her sister and cousin as The Stains to make it out of Charlestown, PA. Her only concern is getting out, not connecting with other girls or making a statement. At no point in the film does she really have any contact with her audience, other than insulting one woman in the front row of the band's first gig. While legions of girls follow The Stains and dress like them, taking up their mantra of "We Don't Put Out", this is portrayed as some kind of herd-like fashion statement, not any kind of empowerment.

Crucially, for me, there is no indication any of these Skunks forms her own band or moves from being a consumer of culture to a creator. This was the important message of both first-wave punk and Riot Grrrl: DIY. That doesn't happen in the film. And as for The Stains' supposed triumph, becoming a fluffy MTV band and losing all their rough edges and anger? How is that a triumph? I think the film works brilliantly as a satire of the power of media and is quite prescient of reality TV. (I also think Spinal Tap took some pointers from it.) But, I can't see much of a feminist message.

As for the subtextfest that is Christopher Strong, crikey. Dorothy Arzner and Katharine Hepburn. Need I say more? Well, yes. Made in 1933, this period piece set in London features Hepburn in marvellous outfits (including a jaw-dropping shiny moth costume, complete with antennae) taking to the skies as a pioneering aviator locked in a quite ludicrous romance with dull aristo Colin Clive. Can't see it myself. But, Arzner and screenwriter Zoe Akins work in some marvellous mixed messages. To wit, saintly married lady and mother Billie Burke utters the immortal line: "Marriage and children make almost any woman old-fashioned and intolerant." How the audience roared at that one. But, of course Hepburn's transgressive, trouser-wearing character cannot possibly get away with her behaviour and dies a fiery crash landing death. Arrgh.

LLGFF: Eloise + And Then Came Lola

Ah, the perils of coupledom. If it's not the domineering mother putting the kibosh on a budding relationship, it's the ex worming her way back into the picture.

And Then Came Lola (dirs Megan Siler, Ellen Seidler) is a lesbian re-working of Run Lola, Run (Lola Rennt), relocated to San Francisco. But, instead of Lola running to save her partner from death, she needs to pick up some prints and deliver them to her girlfriend, who is meeting a client. So, not much drama there, except of the dyke variety--the client is the girlfriend's alluring ex. It's played for laughs, with Lola getting to grips with her flakiness, lack of responsibility and commitment-phobia. And being forced to make her haphazard journey across SF several times until she gets it right and actually "is there" for her partner. There are several running gags (pardon the pun), including a play on the title. But, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you.

No such fun and games for the star-crossed would-be lovers in Eloise (dir Jesus Garay), a beautifully crafted Catalan drama. Poor Asia lives a dreary life with her control freak mother, who actually times the amount of time the girl spends studying before tucking her into bed at night. Brrr. It's no wonder the girl looks with awe on confident, free-spirited art student Eloise and soon she is modelling for her and discovering more about herself. But, then the mother intervenes.... Brilliant performance by Ariadna Cabrol as Eloise, a dead ringer for Ani di Franco (see pic). But, there's no singing, just much scratching of charcoal pencils and longing glances, to excellent effect.

LLGFF: The Lost Women of Cinenova

Having attended last night's Cinenova programme at the LLGFF, I was surprised to be handed a sheet of paper, with many, many names on it. Names of filmmakers represented by Cinenova but who have now dropped off the radar. Names including Julie Dash, Joy Chamberlain and Jan Oxenberg. How can this be? How could these filmmakers become lost?

Well, partly this is down to the fact that Cinenova, which, as a distributor of work by women since 1991, has had no funding since 2001 and, hence, relies on volunteers.

But, I was also puzzled thinking about the work on show last night: except for Barbara Hammer, I could not recall any recent work by any of the filmmakers on show, including Cheryl Farthing and Annette Kennerley. Why was so much work produced by an array of UK lesbian filmmakers in the late '80s and early '90s, who then seemed to disappear from view? I put this to curator Naz Jamal, who suggested that many of the filmmakers chose to go on to do other things: they didn't necessarily want to pursue film as a career. But, I wondered if it was down to a lack of funding and other social changes since then. Fewer commissions from Channel 4? Lack of opportunities to go on to do features? Perhaps it parallels what I've noticed in punk: in their 30s women seemed to leave the music scene, only to emerge 20 years later. Perhaps these women will come back.

Speaker Helen de Witt commented on how surprised she was to see the style on show in the films, a far cry from the "boring, political" films remembered from that time. I remember it differently, as an exciting time full of style AND politics, of ACT UP, Queer Nation, Lesbian Avengers, and lots of exciting short experimental work coming across the pond from the UK to my then-domain of San Francisco, itself a hotbed of queer filmmaking. There was a lot to be angry about. Indeed, there still is, but filmmakers don't seem so interested in exploring that. We live in an era of rom-coms, with marriage and families taking centre-stage as topics for films.

Cafe Carbon

Cafe Oto

Another late night. You'd think I live in a metropolis or something. But, it is unusual. Anyway, just back from Cafe Carbon, a report-back from the much-maligned Copenhagen climate change conference, done in an arty style. To explain, it seems many, many artists made the trip to Copenhagen, either because they had commissions to tie in with the summit or because they wanted to do a bit of guerrilla activism/art. The Gluts appear to fall into the latter category.

A trio of Gina Birch, Hayley Newman and Kaffe Matthews, they have longstanding credentials in various artistic arenas. They are also self-proclaimed fans of climate change activists and tagged along on the activist train that ran from Brussels to Copenhagen, performing eco-friendly songs along the way and filming their activities. Cafe Carbon was their shindig and they showed their film and performed several food-themed songs, interspersed with various activists reporting on their own projects as well as exhorting the audience to be more active and less consumerist.

Among the projects highlighted was Emily James and co.'s forthcoming doc on UK climate change activists, including a visit to Copenhagen during which one filmmaker was arrested by Danish police on suspicion of being a terrorist. John Jordan also showed footage of his Bike Bloc action.

The Gluts lightened things up with their menu of songs, all on a theme of food. This included booty-shaking dance moves, "upcycled" outfits and many lyric changes from familiar songs. The capper was guest performer Helen McCookerybook's "Baked Alaska", performed on a ukulele Gina Birch bought for her. The uke revolution continues. The Gluts have an album's worth of material recorded, but I have no word on a release.

LLGFF: The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister

It's rare I venture out to Leicester Square, which is often swarming with drunken louts and aggressive touts. Or, as happened last night, with screaming girls awaiting the arrival of Robert Pattinson for some premiere.

Making a sharp detour to Odeon West End, I attended the premiere of the BBC production of The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister, for the opening night of the 24th London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. Full of swaggering dandies and extravagant haircuts. And that was just the audience. The film, starring Maxine Peake as the titular character, an extraordinary 19th century Yorkshire noblewoman, is great bawdy fun, full of heaving bosoms and a bit of bodice ripping. Quite racy for the BBC. Can't imagine what Outraged in Tunbridge Wells will make of it, when it airs on BBC2 later in the year.

But, of course, on these occasions, it's all about the people-watching, both at the screening and the after-party. Spotted: Sarah Waters, Charlotte Cooper, and The Raincoats. But, the real action was in the Ladies toilets at the Odeon, where Maxine Peake and other cast members repaired after the film. Simultaneously fixing her make-up and signing autographs, Ms. Peake tutted that she still can't get used to seeing herself on the big screen. Meanwhile, her co-stars patiently waited in the queue. Finding myself between Miss Walker and Miss Belcombe, I shook hands with them both and complimented them on a job well done.

It's not often a character's hesitant declaration: "But, I-I-I don't want to marry" is greeted with cheers. Jane Austen's characters turned finding a husband into a sport and congratulated themselves on this achievement, but for Lister's circle, remaining unmarried was the happy ending.

Into the Archive

As I have been delving into my archive of interviews (the results to appear on Odd Girl Out and some day in more concrete form), I have experienced a full spectrum of emotions, from admiration to despair. From "Wow! I can't believe she said that!" to "Oh, My God, that tape hiss is appalling!".

Generally, it runs along the lines of good substance, terrible style. I haven't always been able to afford good quality tape, and though my trusty Sony Walkman (date of birth: 1986) is still holding up well, the recordings aren't always vintage. I am planning on investing in a good digital recorder, but have yet to find anything affordable that records in stereo. Suggestions welcome.

But, it is a long-long-LONG-term project. Today, I am in 1993, visiting London for a week (ah, what a life-changing trip that was) and meeting Tanya Donelly, Thalia Zedek and Bikini Kill on tour. The Walkman was behaving well, but perhaps running a bit slowly, as Kathleen Hanna sounds a bit chirpier than usual. Thankfully, that can be easily fixed with a tweak of the Speed Tune.

Not so the 1996 interview with Ellyott Dragon, which popped into the tape player, ran for five seconds and then stopped. Snapped tape. Now WTF do I do? Any further suggestions welcome. Surely, history cannot be erased by a flimsy tape. Can it?

IWD on Film

Being of the non-televisual persuasion, I had to wait until I awoke this morning and checked online to see who won at the 82nd Oscars and to learn that, yes, the Academy finally deemed a woman worthy of the best director award. I'm sure it's a very happy International Women's Day for Kathryn Bigelow. The film I was really rooting for, though, was Precious (from the novel, blah, blah), which did succeed in a couple of categories, including a well-deserved win for Mo'Nique. Hurrah.

These successes cannot disguise the continued under-representation for women behind the camera, and so it's a good time to mention that the Bird's Eye View Festival continues in London this week, with a Susanne Bier masterclass today and screenings of films by Kim Longinotto, Jessica Hausner and Cherien Dabis later in the week.

Friday Night Drama

I've been meaning to write about Anat Ben-David's performance at Dirty Cop Friday, but got rather distracted by some drama that happened beforehand, namely a collision involving my bus. Quite an emotional scene, as the car that rear-ended the stationary bus was totalled and one of the car's occupants required medical treatment and a trip in an ambulance.

With shaking knees and jangled nerves, I made my way to DCF to meet a friend and then was whisked off to Optical to do a live interview with Anat Ben-David, the results of which are now on Optical's Featured Sets. Not my most focussed or incisive questioning, but, what the heck.

Below is also some live video of the night. I think she was a bit annoyed with the audience reaction, repeatedly chastising everyone for being too cool. Now I have attended numerous gigs over the years and London is the worst for being stand-back-arms-folded-impress-me attitudinal, but I really thought this group was out to have fun and just wasn't familiar with her work. Oh, well. A bit of confrontation spices up a night. And I made it back home without any further traumas.

Lorries and Loungers

Back from another show, a mixture of giddiness and exhaustion. I did my good deed for the day by pointing an errant Viennese lorry driver in the right direction, lest he send his load of Tische und Stühle crashing into a low-hanging bridge. He was very grateful for my efforts, as he didn't speak English. Finally, finally, the German lessons are paying off...

Last night was quite enjoyable, a worthwhile hike to the wilds of northwest London to see the debut of Club Artyfartle (still not sure about the name), an assemblage of five singer-songwriters showing off their new wares. This took an unusual form of all of them lining up on the stage and playing one song per "set", but with three sets. The mystery performer turned out to be Viv Albertine sporting a bloody finger, courtesy of some dangerous potato peeling.

Viv was the only one to play electric guitar, which is perhaps cheating, but she seemed at home among the acoustic stringed set: Martin Stephenson (very funny banter), Acton Bell (delicate playing), Katy Carr (massive voice, tiny ukulele) and club promoter Helen McCookerybook (good tunes and elaborately written lyrics--see above) all performed new material, with the odd fluffed note to prove it.

Aside from the music, I quite liked the cakes and casual conversation, especially as among the guests was Gina Birch discussing her new-found passion for knitting bags. Things I gleaned: more Raincoats gigs are coming and Gina is now blogging. I also met a cousin of a Mo-Dette, who told some great stories about being on the road with them back in the day.

Showers Likely

Seeking some shelter from another cold, wet day in the Big Smoke and finding myself in the City, I stopped in at my favourite attraction, the Museum of London. Perhaps it is its location, enmeshed in the old London Wall, or the fact it tells the story of the capital and retains an air of sentiment, in my increasingly jaded outlook.

In any case, truthfully, the museum is not looking at its best right now, with new galleries under construction and not due to open until May. As it stands, the history of London stops at 1666, with the Great Fire, the subject of which forms a rather camp 6-minute film that I viewed, along with an elderly couple and a bored family, who left half-way through, before the fire finally stopped and the rebuilding process began. What a nailbiter.

The place was thronged with schoolkids taking a tour of the Roman Gallery and I managed to keep one step ahead of the screaming hordes until they caught up with me just by the Great Fire, thwarting my efforts to try on the fireman's (sic) hat. Pesky kids.

I did, however, spot a rather fetching leather jerkin in the Mediaeval section. To die for, but too small for me. The caption said it was for a young boy. Ah, that would explain the rather limited bosom area. Nice buttons, though.

Girl in a Thunderbolt

Witches Hat Club
London
12 February

As a hotbed of creativity and musical inspiration, Norwich has, up until recently, escaped my attention. But, thanks to Grrrl Sounds, I now know how much this humble East Anglia burg has to offer in the way of bands.

One such exemplar is Girl in a Thunderbolt (Maria to her friends), who appeared on a bill of otherwise folky bearded types on Friday night, a bit of an odd pairing, but she is used to it, declaring she has become a singer-songwriter almost by default. A devotee of DIY, old things and blogging, she has been playing in bands since 2005 and has been solo the last couple of years, recording at home and playing gigs around the UK and Europe.

In her short seven-song set one heard a hint of weariness, but her voice grew stronger as she progressed, sampled acoustic guitar and tambourine accompanying her distinctive vocals, the odd break adding piquancy. "Irate", delivered with some slap guitar and heavy breathing, was a highlight. On "Dopamine" she switched to her vintage Omnichord for a cautionary tale of sleeping with friends.

Before the gig, we conversed briefly and she explained in her soft-spoken manner that she has an album recorded in Norway, but isn't sure of its time or manner of release. The four songs on her EP, Songs for Modern Lovers, give a flavour of her vast musical influences and the capabilities of her home studio. I am particularly partial to "Old Bones" and "Volatile". Girl in a Thunderbolt is back in London on 18 February.

How It Is

Just back from a brief trip to the Tate Modern, braving snowstorms and screaming schoolchildren, who seem to be swarming the south bank, lucky them to have so many attractions to visit within a short distance: Shakespeare's Globe, London Eye, Southwark Cathedral, etc. But not, presumably, Vinopolis.

In any case, said bairns were positively gleeful entering How It Is, Miroslaw Balka's installation in the Turbine Hall. From the back it looks like an upturned crate. From the front, more like a cattle car, with a steep ramp leading into the mysterious blackness. The kids screamed their heads off, while my guest and I merely peered inquisitively in, looking for signs of life.

Sniffing the air, I found it rather cool and sweet-smelling. I spotted some light-coloured shapes in the dark, identified them as people and vowed not to step on them. Venturing through the middle, we didn't actually make contact with anything until we bumped into the back wall and understood why the shapes were so low down: they were sitting against said wall.

And from the inside, it was a nice bit of people-watching, as the silhouetted forms rose up from the ramp and joined us. Very Close Encounters. Briefly, we pondered our places in the world and the difficulty of moving forward. My friend went back out and came in, offering: "It doesn't work the second time." So, first impressions are everything.

Winter in Wien

So, just back from a quick trip to wintry Vienna, just enough time to work in some exhibits, interviews and even a few gigs. Very productive.

First up was Gender Check, the mammoth exhibit of Eastern European depictions of gender, currently at MuMok, but also running in Warsaw in March. As it happened, Cornelia Schleime, one of the exhibiting artists, was in town for a talk, so I stayed to see that, making it a 12-hour shift for me at the museum. Turns out she doesn't consider her work to have any relevance to gender roles, so a bit off-message there, but always entertaining. And I found out: blondes do have more fun.

Next up was the launch of the new issue of Fiber, so a chance to meet some of the folk behind this fine publication, as well as hear some readings from some incredibly nervous writers. I can't be smug. I have never read my work aloud. So, well done to them.

Then it was PARTY TIME with Scream Club, in town for the night and in fine form at Brut. Hot, sweaty fun and a new album due in the spring.

After an absolutely freezing walk through the out-of-season (and amazingly atmospheric) Prater, it was off to see Amanda (Fucking) Palmer put on an astounding show at Arena. Wow. Making her entrance straddling a balcony while performing some piece of Schlager nonsense by 1950s teen idol Heintje earned her massive kudos and it went on from there. The choice of covers was inspired: Michael Jackson, The Sound of Music, Grauzone, Radiohead (off-mic and on ukulele; see below) and, finally, Leonard 'Laughing Boy' Cohen's "Hallelujah", which was rather a downbeat end to an upbeat concert, but the locals say that Vienna is rather a depressive city, so perhaps it all made sense.

Dirty Cop Friday

As previously mentioned, Optical Radio is based at the London art space The Old Police Station, with all its attendant interesting "original features". This Friday the station is holding a party/fundraiser, Dirty Cop Friday, which will also be streamed live.

It starts at 6pm and includes films, talks, art, DJ Munkybutler and live sets from the bands The Ruthless and The Apocryphalites.

Artist in the Loo

You ever make a dash for the loo and find an artist in residence? Well, it is a hazard in London, as I discovered on arriving at The Old Police Station to do my radio show. There, ensconced in one of the former cells, was artist Claudia di Gangi, several days into her residence with her show Is Your Studio a Refuge or a Place of Torture? , as part of Walls of Authority.

As this particular cell served as the Ladies toilet, it was a bit of a shock, but after a visit elsewhere, I sat down in Claudia's temporary studio for a chat. She has been living and working there since last week, making videos that she posts on YouTube. Although she doesn't consider her practice to be performance, she does interact with members of the public who drop by. But, mainly it's about the videos and reacting to the enforced solitude of such a space. She will be presenting her findings to the public on 23 January.

Amanda Palmer live webcast

So, here's a bit of post-modern multi-tasking in the digital age. As I type this, I am passively participating (i.e., lurking) in the latest Amanda Palmer cosy fireside webcast. Quite by accident, as I saw her status update on MySpace mentioning it. I haven't actually figured out how to actively participate by commenting without handing over the shreds of my online security to some unknown company. But, at least I can see other people's (1453 viewers at last count!) comments.

So, far she's not saying anything of burning interest, but is sporting a cool T-shirt (Antihausfrau, with an umlaut over the i for some reason), and I am hoping she will expand on her Tweeted reports from the Golden Globes that I found highly amusing as they appeared, alongside Twitpics, especially the one from the ladies room, packed with young thin, blonde things I didn't recognise but are apparently really famous.

Ah, the ukulele has made an appearance! Yes, that gets an immediate response from the commenters. Odd, Amanda hasn't really responded to any of the comments that are appearing. Surely, this is the point of webcasts--interactivity. Now Amanda is taking a moment out to Twitter during her own live webcast. This must be the ultimate in self-reflexivity. What did we all do before the web, eh?

Listen to the Pictures

As career shifts go, moving from goth sirendom to painter is a pretty nifty one, and Anja Huwe has made just such a move, establishing herself in the art world over the last decade, after leaving Xmal Deutschland. Tonight was the opening of her first exhibit, Listen to the Pictures, in her native Hamburg.

In November, Anja walked me around her studio, showing me the large canvasses she works with tools to make densely pointillist acrylic works. As she explained, even in her days as a singer, she saw songs as colours and, in her paintings, she hears sounds. "This is my music," she told me. Currently, she is working on a book about this condition, known as synaesthesia.

Listen to the Pictures runs at Westwerk, Hamburg until the 24th of January.

Miep Gies

Miep Gies, who helped hide Anne Frank's family and rescued the girl's diary, has died aged 100. What a woman.

This quote from The Guardian sums up her view of the world: "I don't want to be considered a hero. Imagine young people would grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty."

ITN has an overview of her life.