She Stoops to Conquer

At last we got it on air! Actually "at last" is a misnomer, Sky Arts transmitted the film and documentary ("A Gooseberry Fool - Oliver Goldsmith Stoops to Conquer) a matter of weeks after we delivered the master tapes. As promised, there is something on the website about the project, but there will be more as we explore ways of getting the films out to as many people as possible.

Both films received a great deal of press coverage, almost all of it very favourable, although one broadsheet was sniffy about the direction and acting in the main film, which rather begs the question - why bother making it pick of the day?

Congratulations to cast and crew for making this film so watchable and thanks to Sky Arts for helping to make it happen. There are more epics in the pipeline, but for now I must try and sell this one and - yes - do things like update the website!

She Stoops to Conquer

My initial burst of enthusiastic blogging dissipated when Capriol Films went into production on our latest epic - "She Stoops to Conquer". Somehow, the time just passed and now I must return to cyberspace in the hope that someone out there is still checking the Capriol website - my apologies to any keen souls who have been.

Making a high definition film of a one hundred and forty minute play in sixteen shooting days was a tall order, but we managed it and I am very pleased with the result. Cast and crew were magnificent, the location, the lovely Wiveton Hall in North Norfolk, was perfect and the final post production at BSkyB went more or less according to plan - annoying equipment failures were mitigated by the keenness of the Sky editors and engineers.

Very soon we will be putting a "She Stoops" page on the main Capriol website, with stills, chat etc and Sky Arts, our co-producers will be doing something similar on their website - details to follow. Simon Butteriss's accompanying documentary "A Gooseberry Fool - Oliver Goldsmith Stoops to Conquer" will be broadcast on Sky Arts and Sky Arts HD on Saturday 26th January at 8.00pm, followed on Sunday 27th January, also at 8.00pm on the same channels, by the main film of "She Stoops". Those who cannot access Sky will have to wait until the DVD release, which will happen in the middle of the year, just as soon as we have raised some more money.

Money has been, predictably I suppose, an issue in this production, since the local screen agency, Screen East, found themselves ultimately unable to invest in the film. This has left a huge gap in Capriol's finances, so foreign TV sales, educational projects and DVD sales will be extremely important. If anyone reading this thinks they will be interested in purchasing the DVD containing the complete film and documentary, please add a comment - we'd really like to know! Do keep checking the website for the "She Stoops" page - I hope to have it up and running within a week or so.

George Melly

In the early seventies, the Greyhound, Croydon, was home to pretty much every important rock band of the early seventies. But it didn't interest me. No, I went every Tuesday evening to the Lord Napier pub in Thornton Heath to see Alan Elsdon's band storm their way through Louis Armstrong, Pee Wee Russell and, occasionally and memorably, Bessie Smith, as interpreted by a guest vocalist - George Melly.

I must stress that I was not alone in these trad jazz excursions - I had, and still have a group of friends who shared my interest. We also liked Tom Lehrer - acerbic humour and jazz have always been good bedfellows, at least in the UK - Humphrey Littleton is testament to that theory. But if you liked your humour and your jazz broad and bucolic - George Melly was your man. Every time George appeared at the Napier, my little group of social misfits swelled to a manic crowd of under aged carousers, lapping up such tender arias as "Gimme a Pigfoot" and - of course "Nuts" George's only chart hit. A couple of times I spoke to the great man after the gig and was rewarded on both occasions by being kissed - a brandy fuelled expression of bonhomie rather than a sexual statement, I remain convinced.

Immediately following this musical baptism, I went to Music College, where Joseph Horovitz encouraged me to write my thesis on post war British Jazz, rather than "wasting my time with Beethoven string quartets". Since there was only one textual source available, I was forced to research my project in the jazz pubs and clubs of London - an activity that I embraced with enthusiasm. Needless to say, George was part of this source material, not only through his performances, but his autobiography of his life as singer with Mick Mulligan's band, "Owning up". This book is the best and funniest account of the trad boom of the fifties and early sixties and along with "Revolt into Style", his highly regarded history of the emergence of pop culture would alone cement his reputation as a fine and authoritative writer.

In the late eighties I was commissioned by a friend, Phil Partridge, to write the title song for a sitcom pilot he was producing at the BBC. We both agreed that George was the man to sing the song and, much to our surprise and delight, he agreed with alacrity. The only proviso was that we give him lunch before the recording - which resulted in a wonderful cabaret, followed by a session which Phil and I were too pissed to recall, other than that George performed with consummate professionalism, despite his stupendous intake of alcohol.

Entertainer, singer, surrealist, art critic, film critic, writer, angler - George Melly lived many joyous lives. I mourn his passing as if he were a close friend - many many people assuredly feel the same way. The world is now a poorer and drearier place.

The Kathleen Ferrier awards

Who can forget the unique sound of the great Kathleen Ferrier, a creamy contralto allied to perfect diction and that indefinable ability to get truly inside whatever she was singing, be it "When I am Laid" or "Blow the Wind Southerly". Her early death seemed to embed her in the public consciousness and the awards created in her name keep her name well and truly alive.

Over the last few months I have heard performances from two recent Kathleen Ferrier award winners, both sopranos. Elizabeth Watts won the prize last year and went on to win the Rosenblatt Recital song prize at the Cardiff Singer of the world competition last month, narrowly failing to pick up the overall prize. Laura Mitchell won the Ferrier song prize this year and will no doubt continue her ascent.

Both young ladies are still in their late twenties, but they exhibit a precocious ability in recital, perhaps a far more difficult arena than the opera stage. Miss Watts won this year's outstanding young artist award at the MIDEM classical awards in Cannes. Part of the prize was an appearance at said awards - a poisoned chalice if ever there was one. About three hours into an interminable celebration of the self satisfied mediocrity of the classical recording business, Miss Watts made her appearance, to sing a couple of Mozart arias. My heart went out to her - those that hadn't already escaped to the delights of the Croisette were numb with boredom and indifferent to more or less anything. The young singer must have sensed this, but she still gave us an exquisite ten minutes, which made the whole dreary event worthwhile.

Last night, Laura Mitchell had an easier ride - a small but enthusiastic audience at Simon Rowland-Jones's enterprising North Norfolk Music Festival. Miss Mitchell, accompanied with great flair and sensitivity by the young Mexican guitarist Morgan Szymanski, performed songs by de Falla, Albeniz, Rodrigues etc with consummate skill, style and charm. The artists took turns in presenting the material, with never a moment of awkwardness or cliche, just proper professional poise and - yes - charm, which is very hard to bottle and harder still to teach.

My point is that Elizabeth Watts and Laura Mitchell can not only sing beautifully - that has to be a given, but clearly know how to deal with the performance situation and can really communicate with the audience- be it a thousand bored executives in a huge ugly cinema or a hundred "mature" music fans in a remote Norfolk Church. Onward ladies, Kathleen is smiling down on you, although she is perhaps wondering when it will be the turn of a contralto!

Opus Arte

Well, well, well, the Royal Opera House has announced its acquisition of the DVD producer and distributor Opus Arte, for £5.7 million. This figure apparently includes £2 million of debt, which has been refinanced through venture capital. The Arts Council approves the deal and, presumably the city financiers will have done fairly exhaustive due diligence, given the volatility of this market, so we must presume that the enterprise will be glorious and profitable.

The profitability so far as the ROH is concerned doesn't, however, seem destined to fund much in the way of new productions. A figure of $593,000 is quoted by the New York Times as being Opus Arte's latest and Tony Hall, boss of the ROH is signalling that this is the level that he expects to continue. Its not going to go all that far given the squillions that are currently spent at Floral Street, even allowing for the fact that, again presumably, the income per disc will be set for the ROH at a rather higher level than for other third party producers.

This begs the question of why buy into Opus Arte? Hans Petri runs the label efficiently and deserves to be rewarded for his success. But wouldn't it have been easier and a lot more transparent for the ROH simply to start its own label, in the same way that the London Symphony Orchestra did? The LSO and many other organisations such as The Sixteen, have had a good deal of success with these own label ventures - The ROH brand is surely strong enough to be self supporting. Or maybe in this great cacophony of corporate media - speak, (and precious little about the artistic ramifications), I've missed something?

Damien Hirst

Tonight I settled down in front of NewsNight review, having returned from the Holt Bookshop, where the very talented Jeremy Page was signing copies of his debut novel, "Salt". (An evocative and beautifully crafted book, set in north Norfolk - worth buying). News Night revue is always worth a look, although it seems to have been diluted by the absence of people like Germaine Greer, Tony Parsons and their bunch of wonderfully acerbic and often wildly subjective pals.

Tonight's programme consisted of an extended interview with Damien Hirst, gently quizzed by a slightly out of her depth Kirsty Wark - was there a lot of editing, or am I being uncharitable? Mr Hirst speaks very fast, nearly as fast as he earns money from his art, or, to be more accurate, his art factory - the existence of which Mr Hirst cheerfully admits. I don't have the knowledge of visual art to make a judgement about the work, the artist is obviously fiercely intelligent and his success is a rather encouraging poke in the eye to the Establishment.

However, I do wonder if NewsNight were not rather beautifully conned, the new exhibition at the White Cube Gallery will no doubt be attended by all of London's rather nebulous group of movers and groovers, but does it actually reflect art in its broader and more vital sense? I don't subscribe to the view that figurative painting is the acme of artistic endeavour; its like saying that just because Brian Eno doesn't play the piano as well as Stan Tracy his work has no place. In other words, anyone who makes good art has a place - the trick is defining what is good.

My concern is that fourteen million pounds worth of diamond encrusted skull -Mr Hirst's latest work, seems to have caught the imagination of the arts commissars in a rather sordid fashion. , There again, it could be argued that this piece is no different from a Faberge egg - exquisite and destined for the mega rich - and therein lies the rub. Damien Hirst spoke well and sensibly in his interview tonight, but I can't help thinking that there are other creative artists who would have benefited more from thirty minutes of precious screen time - the Hirst empire really doesn't need it.

Mariella Frostrup

I have finally got round to reading an interview in last Monday's Independent with Mariella Frostrup - she of the blond hair and gravelly voice, who when not lending her gravel to innumerable voice overs for TV adverts, presents the Book Show for Sky Arts. Bravo to Mariella for the last sentence in her piece: "I don't think I'm the only person for whom its harder and harder to find something I want to watch on television". She is, of course echoing a sentiment that is becoming more prevalent as television programming becomes less geared to an important sector of the audience.

Of course it is silly to wear rose tinted specs - there is still a lot of fine programming available and when the BBC, in particular present series such as Andrew Marr's new history of Britain and the estimable "Seven Ages of Rock" we should all breath a sigh of relief. But Mariella's point about the stranglehold on arts television by Melvyn Bragg and Alan Yentob is well made; these gentlemen run a fiefdom which is well nigh impregnable, which is bad news not only for other practitioners, but the for audience.

I do a lot of business with Sky Arts and, although they don't actually have much money to spend, I agree wholeheartedly with Ms Frostrup that they are "clever people" and that they realise that audiences are "sick of being fed patronising rubbish". Sooner or later, other enlightened broadcasters will connect with this and think seriously about aiming interesting and varied arts programming at the not inconsiderable niche that is currently somewhat disenfranchised. Whether this material is provided conventionally or by video on demand, IPTV and all the other new delivery methods, is the exciting bit - all we have to do is find a way of financing the films that will, I believe, ultimately be needed in sharply increasing amounts.

I have one caveat with last week's interview: Please, Mariella, don't bother with the feminist angle. I'm sure you have had to work proportionately harder to get where you are than if you were a man, but the reality is that British television has an unusually high proportion of women in senior and key positions. Indeed, in arts presentation, Newsnight Review regularly features Kirsty Wark and Martha Kearney as presenters - one might argue that it would be better to use people who are actually from the world they are analysing, but these ladies don't do a bad job. So, Mariella, maybe don't be bashful about your undeniable good looks and charm - use them in conjunction with your passion for the arts and create a quiet revolution from within the system.