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.

The art of eccentricity

As I write this, I am listening to Jude Cowan's CD, Doodlebug Alley, handed to me by the artist as I left last night's 12-Bar Club gig, part of the London Fringe. It was an enjoyable evening, full of poets and musicians and plenty of amusing audience-performer interaction (some unwanted).

In all the years I have lived in London, I've never actually set foot in the club, and I was fascinated to see a forge dated 1635 form part of the back wall of the main stage. The sound engineer informed me it was used to make horseshoes. I am impressed to think it must have survived the Great Fire. But, I digress...

Cowan performed in the front room, a quirky, pigtailed figure adopting a knock-kneed stance usually seen by rockabilly guitarists, but here matched with a concert ukulele, face scrunched up, the better to add a melodramatic visual element to her idiosyncratic songs. I would have termed her style "English eccentric", had I not been warned via a pre-gig comment by fellow performer Helen McCookerybook, that they are neither English nor singer-songwriters. So, perhaps "British eccentric" is more accurate. Cowan's is quite a melodramatic style, full of dramatic pauses, knowing intonations and clever wordplay. "The Lure of Paris" made repeated mention of a "boring banker" in such a barbed way as to suggest it was cockney rhyming slang. Another number very amusingly riffed on "red Berlin" and the narrator's various romantic escapades.


Later, Helen McCookerybook took to the main stage for her soundcheck and was immediately engaged by a grizzled eccentric-in-residence who questioned her as to whether they had met before. Barefoot, she then carried on a running dialogue with the folk in the balcony, flashing a steely smile to go with her deceptively gentle tunes. Speak softly and carry a big Gretsch, I think. I recognised a few songs, as she was my first live performing guest on Odd Girl Out, but this was the first time I saw her play electric guitar. Seeking the sympathy vote for her sore thumb, she showed off her jazz chords, and played a brisk, engaging set, selected from the luggage tag she had tied to her guitar neck. She was very proud of this innovation and predicted it will sweep the folkerati circuit.

Among the audience was Cowan's and McCookerybook's colleague Kath Tait, the third member of their tongue-in-cheek group the Desperado Housewives ("on the run from husbands and housework"). Their next themed gig, on the subject of cowboys, is on 9 September at the Montague Arms in New Cross.

Sound in Vision

I just found out my film War With Love is screening next Saturday as part of the Sound in Vision Festival at the Clapham Picturehouse in South London.

Although it's been online, it's only the second screening of War With Love, my lo-fi-black-and-white-super-imposed-melancholic epic, shot in wintry Berlin.

As I quite like mixing visuals with music, it's a pleasure to be part of this bill. There doesn't seem to be a line-up online yet, but I have received details.

Sound in Vision Festival, 28 August:

2pm – The Henry Brothers

3pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

4pm – Marta Fontanals-Simmons

4.30pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

5pm – Benjamin Folk Thomas & Jack Day - Country Folk Duo

6pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

7pm – Amaziah

8pm – The Stepsons

There is no admission fee, but, as it's a benefit for PLAN International, donations are welcome.

New Odd Girl Out Radio blog

I had been posting playlists for Odd Girl Out on MySpace, but I now have a dedicated site for my radio show, Odd Girl Out Radio.

The new site will feature playlists from the show, as well as other features, which will be introduced over time. I shall also be moving a few of my Blogroll sites over there. Keep checking back!

Tonight at Old Police Station: Yuck house

Tonight is a benefit for Optical and pH7 radio stations at the Old Police Station in New Cross, London.

It features performances in the garden, live bands in the interview room and will be streamed live on the two stations. An exhibition, Yuck house, will be on in the cells. The bar opens at 5pm. £5 donation entry.

Sleigh Bells

Rough Trade East, London
10 August

At last, a foray out of my contemplative, tree-hugging reverie and back into gigland! Well, an in-store at Rough Trade's hipster eastie offspring in Brick Lane. I used to live in this 'hood earlier in the century, just as it was becoming achingly trendified. I still enjoy the odd visit, mostly to pick up bagels, but also to wander the cobblestones and gaze in the windows of shops that probably wouldn't allow me to darken their doors.

But, this jaunt was prompted by the appearance of Brooklyn noise-beats duo Sleigh Bells, whom I have played a little bit on my show. I have yet to hear the debut album, Treats, which prompted this visit to ye olde record store. And, given that much of their recorded work is highly produced, I wondered how it would translate live. As indeed, perhaps did they, because before the show, I bumped into vocalist Alexis Krauss wandering the aisles of the shop and she commented approvingly that the sound was much better than she expected. Off-stage she and bandmate Derek Miller were the model of polite, well-mannered young people (said to be in short supply nowadays)--both of them shook hands with me and Krauss offered a 120-watt smile, to boot.

Onstage they turned into raging rock beasts, with Krauss the epitome of RAWK frontwoman, complemented by Miller's choppy guitar playing. But, RAWK in a very, very good way--high energy, loud enough for ear plugs and with charisma to burn. She has the full range of poses and dance moves, as well. The only drawback was the limited "liveness" of the show, as all of the music, save Miller's guitar, came from a laptop. And when he left the stage for two or three songs, Krauss was effectively performing karaoke. But.... it's hard in the digital age to truly be live and it was a very enjoyable 35 minutes.

Afterward, the two glowing performers wandered the shop, wondering what the heck was going on, until they were ushered behind the counter to sign merchandise. Not having a copy of the record, I made my way out, back into the rain of a grey, rainswept London, bagel in hand.

Walking is good for you...

Spent a good three hours walking from Tottenham Hale to Lea Bridge Road along the Lea (or Lee) River, with a brief detour to Springfield Park for a cuppa (but the care was not yet open), back to the river, through marshes, past posing heron, following the trail of assorted geese and discarded footballs (an England one was going in circles, much like the team) and then had a cursory picnic at the standing stones of the Middlesex Filter Beds. Felt marvellously invigorated. Then slept for three hours. Now off to find something cultural to see, as this is an arts blog.