Skip to content

Sep 5

4 Comments

Licence to thrill: The London 2012 Paralympic Experience

We are all now used to the sight of London’s Olympic stadium, blazing brightly in an otherwise subdued East London skyline, the diamond in the rough, with its triangular light stations looking like the pointed pinnacles of a medieval crown. When you see it on television, the stadium is both a giant-sized modern multi-coloured spectacle, but equally a giver of intimate human stories – the athletes crying, their families hugging, supporters bedecked in countless variations of red, white and blue. Through the aid of high-zoomed television cameras, you get to catch every detail of the various spectators, the royals who are sitting on the show and giving out medals, and the super-strong athletes pulling superhero poses at the start line to the track events.

When you’re there in the stadium itself as one such spectator in a sea of thousands, it’s a whole different story. Everything is magnified, augmented, accelerated. The stadium loses all sense of the human story. It becomes superhuman, a thing of such magnificence, on such a brilliantly huge, exaggerated scale that you literally cannot believe you eyes. What is before you is not only a photogenic stadium worthy of star-studded superlatives and photographs in their thousands; it is history in the making, it is London’s definitive moment in the spotlight. It’s a magnificent mastery of social unity on an epic scale, as people come together in their tens of thousands to cheer, to wave flags, to take photos, to share in the glory. And so it was that the human became superhuman, where in a stadium so big, small people in a crowd of thousands became mere pixels in an ocean of humanity: when a mexican wave took hold amongst the crowd, it literally looked like a ripple pulsating around the stadium; when the crowd took photos, it was like the spectator area had become a diamond encrusted snake, sparkling to the movement of its slithing great body as the flash bulbs went off in their thousands around the racing track; and when a Brit was on course to win a medal, the joint roar of 80,000 spectators made a noise like nothing I have ever heard before – it was a noise enough to conquer nature – thunder itself could not have outdone it.

Yes, as the above probably makes clear, I have experienced the London 2012 Olympic park at last, as well as the Athletes stadium itself, doing so as part of the incredible Paralympics festival which is currently underway in London. Having not obtained tickets for the park itself during the Olympics, I was on the ball when the Paralympics tickets were released a few months later. This time I was lucky, receiving tickets for the Swimming, the Athletics, and, this coming Sunday, the Closing Ceremony. And needless to say, I am incredibly glad that I got to sample not just the Olympic park, but the wonder of the Paralympics as well – The Athletes involved are nothing short of incredible. Talking of superhuman, these guys take the word to a new level all on their own, overcoming debilitating injuries and conditions to excel in sports to levels which, if not equal, are a fine match to the standards set by the incredibly fit able bodied athletes of the Olympics two weeks before.

Last night I was lucky enough to see the UK’s David Weir win the T54 1500m race in super-strength style, pivoted to the finishing line by the sheer strength of his arms alone. And the night before, I was equally fortunate to see Brit favourite Ellie Simmonds win her second gold medal of the games and win in world record time for the second occasion too. Her victory was immense. She was in around 5th place when she turned to swim her final lap of the pool but then, again with superhuman almost mechanical genius, she managed to propel herself, not only ahead of her competitors, but leaving a huge margin trailing between her and the silver medallist. And who else was there? None other than the current Prime Minister (David Cameron), a past Prime Minister (Gordon Brown) and a potential future Prime Minister too boot (Boris Johnson) all getting in on the action (I think that’s known as jumping on the band wagon).

As for the Aquatics centre itself, designed by Zaha Hadid, what a feat of architectural genius, with its organic curvaceous wooden roof perfectly mirroring the muscular contours of a huge killer whale, and appearing to float, defying gravity, in mid air above a marine blue pool and some equally innovative diving boards. 

Well, after an Olympian effort to effectively describe the feeling and emotions of experiencing what is nothing short of a sensational Paralympics experience, I think it’s about time to show you some of my photos of the event – you’re not getting any athlete close-ups I’m afraid – these venues are huge and my seats were, as my budgetary constraints would predict, fairly high up in the gods, but for architectural appreciation, my photos are surely on form. Check out in addition Anish Kapoor’s wacky red Arcelormittal Orbit tower, now an insuperable icon of the Olympic park skyline, and, at the opposite end of the scale, the delicate beauty of the park’s many wildflowers and tranquil riverside walks. Amazing to think that only a few years ago, this was one great industrial wasteland. Oh and let us not forget that incredibly Olympic flame designed by Thomas Heatherwich.

The UK truly is at an all time creative and sporting high. Long may it continue.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Sep 4

The Daily Sketch: Norms guillotined in the Place de la Concorde

As the rigour and excitement of the Paralympic Games continues to thrill not only us in London, but also the millions of viewers around the world, spare a thought for those young ones amongst us for whom this week may well spell the end of their summers and the start of a whole new school year. God, I used to hate this time of the year – that compulsory trip to the school uniform shop with my mother, trying on a scratchy new knitted jumper, full of foreboding for the cold days and dark nights to come, the homework, the long lessons and the exams at the end of it all, and all this when my golden summer tan was still fresh on my skin.

For many, that time has come, but as this Norm sketch shows, learning need not be a drag, especially if history is on the timetable for the first day. History is all around us you see, and this is no more so than in Paris, a city laced with its own fair share of gruesome tales, like this one, in the Place de la Concorde (or the Place de la Révolution as it was known then), where on 21 January 1793, King Louis XVI was sensationally beheaded upon the gruesome guillotine, along with his much despised wife, Queen Marie Antoinette (“let them eat cake” and all that jazz).

Norms guillotined in the Place de la Concorde (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

Here we join this bloody day of Norm history, as Marie Antoinette has just lost her head, and Louis XVI, looking at the blade hanging menacingly above his head, knows that he is next. All around him, the soldiers of the revolution see that this day of reckoning goes down without interruption, while close by, the serene elaborate statues of the nearby fountains look on, a reminder that although all we see today is the architectural glory of this square, not so many years ago it was a place of significant blood shed and historical significance.

Vive la Révolution! (Not that I approve of beheading I should add).

See you next time.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Sep 3

7 Comments

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Days 2-5: Bilbao and Fluffy

For those of you who are long term readers of The Daily Norm, you may remember, either from my post in which I extolled the virtues of a good teddy bear, or from their occasional appearance in my photos of daily life, that I have two very important little teddies who follow me around in my life – Bilbao, a little dog, given to me by my Partner as I came round from a rather hideous sixth leg operation semi-conscious in my hospital bed, and Fluffy, a little teddy (once far fluffier than he is now, much loved and slightly matted) who I gave to my partner as a thanks for all those bedside vigils and the much required care which followed by post-operative state. Ever since, these two little characters have been our constant companions in life, and inevitably, they have crept into my art too.

Bilbao and Fluffy, pose for their portraits

Last week I started my painting diary in what will be almost like an autobiography on canvas – a large painting which aims to explore various components of my life, past and present. Because they represent the contentment and stability of my home life, Bilbao and Fluffy are integral features of my story, and were therefore the first characters to make it onto canvas as my painting progressed to the semi-finished Mallorcan background of last week’s post, to the more detailed work which I have now started.

I thought this would take me around a day to achieve, but as I started to paint Bilbao, it soon dawned on me what a daunting undertaking it would be to paint all of his knitted body. He took me FOREVER to paint. At the end of day two I had managed to paint his head, which then floated around disconcertingly bodyless for a whole night, all the more freaky for having successfully captured that twinkle in his eye.

By the end of day three, I had done most of his body (bar one leg, the angle of which I found difficult) and his little red t-shirt (I needed to be careful this didn’t bleed into the beige of his knitting).

Bilbao was finished on day four, comme ça…

And Fluffy, thank goodness, didn’t take half as long, and I completed him, together with crumpled little ribbon, pretty swiftly on day five.

So there you have it, the painting so far, slowly progressing and presenting patience-trying technical demands from the start. Who would have thought that two cute teddies would prove to be such a painting challenge?

I leave you with a few photos of Fluffy and Bilbao in different locations throughout the world, just in case you weren’t already convinced that I am slightly eccentric.

Hoping to be able to update you with more painting progress soon. Until then…

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Aug 30

1 Comment

The Daily Sketch: Pharaoh Norms return to the Louvre

London’s Paralympics have begun, and peoples from around the world have drained away from their home cities and headed for London, newly reappointed centre of the world. In fair Paris, with the August absence of the Parisians still conspicuous, and a raft of tourists headed North over La Manche, a group of strange looking Norms have taken advantage of the silence descending the city, and arrived at the famous Musée du Louvre in search of something which they think belongs to them.

Attracted by the familiar shape of the Louvre’s huge glass pyramid, now the iconic symbol of a reimagined contemporary Louvre, designed by I M Pei, and made all the more famous by the conspiracy theories of Dan Brown, these Norms emerge from the ancient land of Egypt, brought back to life from deep within their gilded tombs in search of the historical artefacts ravaged from their burial places and placed in grand museums such as the Louvre. Yes, the Pharaoh Norms have returned to the Louvre, in search of their birthright heritage, and yet dragging with them a Mummy Norm, just in case they change their mind and decided to make a new donation to the French collection… (they’re rather capricious, these ancient Egypnorms).

Here we join them as they formulate a strategy for their great heist of the Louvre’s Egyptology galleries. They’ve found the pyramid, but the glass has confused them. Is this witchcraft which has made the pyramid appear before them and yet not? There’s much to muse over in this brave new world around them. I think we’ll leave them to it.

Pharaoh Norms return to the Louvre (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Aug 29

Daily Norm Book Club: The Skating Rink by Roberto Bolaño

In the murky world of Roberto Bolaño, the sadly deceased Mexican author, many of whose masterpieces are only now, posthumously, seeing the light of day, a new storm is brewing. In the noncommittally named Costa Brava seaside resort of “Z”, the catalogue of shady locals, from El Quemado to the elusive German hotelier, Frau Else introduced to us in Bolaño’s recently published The Third Reich, is expanded further, as a second “Z”-based novel, The Skating Rink, delves into the layers of denigration, frustration and prejudice subsisting, never far from reach, beneath the soft sands of this beachside society in post civil-war Spain.

The novel is a short, punchy exploration of a Spain pressing forwards but continuing to struggle against Catalan discrimination, a flagging economy post summer-season (sound familiar?) and the progressive rise of a bureaucratically managed insular society. These frustrations are played out by the few principal characters around whom the story circulates. There is Nuria Marti, the beautiful ice skater, previously an Olympian skater representing Spain, but recently thrown off the national team because of her Catalan heritage. Obsessed with her is Enric Rosquelles, a pompous civil servant, who, in a desperate attempt to capture the attention and then the affection of this starlet skater, abuses his power and embezzles pesetas by the thousand to build Nuria her very own skating rink in the grounds of a deserted seaside villa.

Nuria’s affections are elsewhere however, in part with a local entrepreneur, Remo Moran – the poor boy done good – who has become owner of the hotel which formed the backdrop of The Third Reach, and who is now sleeping with the skater. He would love there to be more than sex between them, but he cannot crack the icy glaze which so often falls over Nuria, protecting her from the prying attentions of those who get too close. Working for Remo is Gaspar Heredia, a solitary, beleaguered romantic and old friend of Remo from their native Mexico. He too is in love, with an equally elusive, silent and cold societal outcast, Caridad, who has found the ice rink and lives amongst the ruins of the villa beyond. That is until tragedy strikes and all concerned are forced to abandon the ice rink which has sealed their fate forever.

We know there will be a murder. We’re told at the start, and in short captivating chapters, the three narrators, Enric, Remo and Gaspar, successively take the story gradually closer and closer to the murder which was forewarned, circling progressively nearer to the tragic event, like a skater encircles an ice rink before arabesquing into a pirouetted climax at its bloody cold centre. In this way, Bolaño’s brilliant structure ensnares the audience and drags them into the tale, captivating like a dancing routine, enriching the reader with a tale told on ice.

Yet within a speedy narrative hoisting in the reader with its intrigue and drama, the sombre mood, typical of Bolaño’s work, prevails, as surreal and disquieting descriptions create a deeper profile of his often troubled characters: the toilet cleaners who agonise after the faeces sculptor whose daily offerings torment them, the old singer, who moves from bar to bar in a pitiful attempt to busk for drink-money, the poet, taken to insomnia and dizzily distracted by his love for a girl who won’t even speak to him. It is these characters who make the story, who create a mood which is as distant from the sunshine and sangria costa setting as a seagull from the Sahara. This is the same unsettling irony which characterised The Third Reach – holiday makers playing war games, away from the sun, in the darkness of a hotel bedroom, a paddleboat seller, who builds a home on dry land from boats, and whose skin is burnt by fire, yet exposed all day to the continuing damage of the sun, and the tourists who were drunk with joy, and then distressed when one disappeared forever. These dark undertones are what makes Bolaño’s summer time so enticing; a hot Spanish resort with an ice-cold undertone, a wintery chill traversed by the pointed blade of a skater’s boots, the razor sharp kitchen knife carried in the waistband of a silent night-walker, the inscrutable personality of the leading skating star. 

This is my third Bolaño read and I’m eager to read more. Bolaño gives us crime, but not crime fiction, he gives us Mediterranean sun, with none of its warmth. He gives us speechless characters, full of detail. In other words, his books are atypical, original and inescapably captivating. I’m off to buy the next one…

Related articles

Aug 28

8 Comments

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 1: Mallorca

Since I started The Daily Norm last year, in those unenriched days when my interaction with the abundant world of the blogosphere was only just beginning, I have featured a fair number of my own paintings on my blog, attempting, as I have posted their photos, to explain some of the meaning behind what are often quite complex painted images. For my latest painting, I am changing tack.

In my current  work, which has now been sitting upon my easel for some weeks, I am exploring an autobiographical subject matter on a grand scale (the canvas is 120cm x 120 cm, so a fair size for my lounge-come-studio to take when you consider that when I paint, I basically take over my kitchen – leading to some interesting food results when the paint gets too close to the oven top). Because the work is essentially a self-portrait albeit explored through a catalogue of symbols on a large Mediterranean background, I anticipate working on the canvas for some time before it is finished, particularly as painting is not my day job. Since that will mean a sparsity of artwork available for Daily Norm consumption in the foreseeable future, and because I plan to paint a plethora of details, I thought it would be equally relevant to blog about the painting as it progresses, rather than ramble at length when it is eventually finished.

First layer done – the Mallorcan inspired background

You join me then in what is the first post of my painting diary, a set of hopefully regular accounts cataloguing my progress on the work. In my first instalment, I present the background of my work. I decided to set the piece on a quiet, rocky beach, somewhere on the island of Mallorca. The background is far from finished – this is just a sketch of where the finished scenery will be set, but it provides enough structure, allowing me to build the details of the painting on top of it, layer by layer.

The background is loosely based on Torrent de Pareis, a beach in Northern Mallorca which provides stunning natural scenery but which, for the purposes of my painting, provides the right balance of solitary surrealism to cast the perfect backdrop to my self-analysing piece.

The Torrent de Pareis in reality

And its crystal clear waters

Since the painting will be a take on my story, it’s only appropriate that I should set it in the Mediterranean and on Spanish soil since Spain has, for most of my life, proved to be a consistent inspiration in my art and in my aspirations for life. While I have spent the majority of my time in Andalucia, my trip to the island of Mallorca this time last year inspired me more than any other. Expecting an island full of package holiday tourists and English menus, I was surprised, if not stunned by the incredible coastal scenery to be found around the island (once we fled from the ugly shadows cast by Magaluf and other tourist dystopias). The waters are such an incredible shade of blue, and the rocky covey beaches so idyllic and colourful, that seeing is believing. I accordingly enclose just a few of the shots I took of Mallorca’s incredible coastal scenery last summer – the colours alone are an art form in themselves. I just hope that my painting does Mallorca justice, even as just a background to a far deeper work.

See you for the next instalment of my painting diary.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Aug 27

1 Comment

Out and about with my iPhone – Part III

It’s that time of the year again, when The Daily Norm shifts the focus to the ordinary things in life – the “norms” of life if you will – which are often ignored by day, but look pretty spectacular when captured on camera. It’s a point I’ve made before in my previous “Out and about” posts, but the real benefit of the improvement of mobile phone camera technology is that wherever you are whatever you are doing, it becomes possible, upon seeing something surprising, or spotting something mundane which suddenly, out of the blue, appears beautiful, to capture that shot for prosperity. These often make the best photos of all – uncontrived, original, surprising.

As before, I’m posting a few shots of miscellaneous sights which, over the last few months, I have encountered while living the humdrum of an otherwise normal life. This part of the “Out and about” collection concentrates mainly on clouds, skies and a good few flowers to boot. Enjoy.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles

Aug 25

2 Comments

Ravel at Glyndebourne: the double-dip opera-session

Everyone knows that here in England, we’re wallowing in a double-dip recession. The longest for decades they say. But there was light on the horizon this week – apparently we’re not in the recession as deep as forecasters had thought. Well hey ho, that’s a positive surely? Things are looking up! And what better way to celebrate this sprightly news than to head along to where all the rich people go – to Glyndebourne Opera, home of the landed gentry, the well-coined and lovers of lavishness aplenty, for none other than a double-dip opera-session! (called such because 1. this is my second visit of the year – I know, lucky me – and 2. we got to see not one, but two operas by Ravel). I know, Ravel – hardly your Puccini or Mozart. But my, what a feast beheld us when we sat down to watch the melodic opus of this operatic genius.

L’heure espagnole

Once we had enjoyed our customary fill of afternoon tea and a stroll around the verdant grounds of Glyndebourne (disappointed however that for the price of half a small car, tea was presented as a Twinings tea bag. Where was my loose leaf? My high tea silver?) we entered the lavishly contemporary wood-clad opera auditorium to watch the first of the Ravel double-bill. L’heure espagnole thrilled from the moment the curtain unfurled horizontally across the stage, revealing behind it a clockworker’s shop with a wall filled to the brim of different sized clocks and other nicknacks, all wonderfully animated so that, as the curtain rolled back to reveal them, the clocks would begin spinning, the skeleton started dancing and dusters started revolving, all on their own, like some kind of enchanted wonderland.

What followed was a perfectly choreographed commedia dell’arte, a typical sexual farce as a clockmaker’s wife attempted (almost) in vain, to make the most of her husband’s one hour’s absence to throughly flirt her way through the town’s male population. But as she found one man too poetically verbose and romantically flighty, she found the robust attentions of another too overbearing. Trying to escape one and have her way with the other, a hilarious scene unfurled as the licentious Concepcion, brilliantly played by Stéphanie d’Oustrac, tried to hide one lover from another, generally speaking in cuckoo clocks, while all the time courting the attention of yet another suitor who at the start of the opera bemoaned his lack of touch with women, but by the end had bedded Concepcion, just in time before her husband arrived back.

My favourite section was the final scene, when back on stage, all five singers threw themselves into a brilliantly mastered harmony, sung in tandem, but each one of them following a differently intricate melody. I also appreciated the devilish symbolism which ran throughout the opera, as the libretto alluded to the winding up of clocks as a symbol of sexual frustration, only for the cuckoo to pop out energetically as a symbol of – well, I’ll let your imagination finish that sentence off. A few dangling pendulums and several shrill cuckoos later, and the opera ended just after an hour of comical gold with some excellent singing and a beautifully played score which evoked the sensual atmosphere of middle-Spain (the opera is set in Toledo) and the ravishing rhythms and visceral textures of that region. What this opera lacked in memorable harmonies, it gained in actorly skill and superb staging – one forgets that opera singers have to act just as well as they sing, and in L’heure espagnole, they were pretty spot-on on both fronts.

 L’enfant et les sortilèges

If the evening had ended there, we would have walked away highly satisfied. But after the customary 90 minute interval break, we returned for the second of the Ravel operas and were frankly so stunned by the creative genius of the spectacle which started to play out on the stage before us that my mouth hung open, my partner’s eyes started blinking in disbelief, and for all of us, a suspicion ensued that either the wine during dinner had been sensationally strong or the director’s staging was fantastically good, such was the brilliance and utter incredulity of the surreal spectacular which was embodied by the second opera: L’enfant et les sortilèges. 

Read more

Aug 22

2 Comments

The Genius of Hitchcock Part One – The Lodger and Stage Fright

Although now best known for his blockbuster epics where birds attack the innocent in Bodega Bay, James Stewart struggles to cling on to a skyscraper’s edge in the dizzy heights of San Francisco, and Cary Grant and his suitably blonde counterpart risk life and limb to escape the group of villainous assassins pursuing them across the slippery carved facade of Mount Rushmore, Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense and one of Britain’s most famous cinematic exports, innovated his psychologically thrilling style of filmmaking in the smoke and fog of London long before he ever hit the sunny slopes of Hollywood. In celebrating the genius of Britain’s most influential and celebrated film makers as part of London’s 2012 cultural olympiad, the British Film Institute is concentrating, not just on the Hollywood blockbusters of Hitchcock, but on the London-based films where, for this budding film maker, it all began.

Hitchcock makes a characteristic brief cameo appearance in Stage Fright

I must admit, I have fallen head over heals in love with Hitchcock films. Ever since my partner and I stumbled upon the huge open-air showings of Hitchcock classics in Bologna’s film festival under the stars in July, whereupon the wonderfully clipped 1950s accents of the films’ stars resonated across the majestic medieval architecture of Bologna’s Piazza Maggiore, we have been hooked. From buying a box set of Hitchcock’s best, we have taken to watching one or two films per week. Almost besides ourselves with excitement were we then when we saw a poster on the tube advertising that the BFI too will hold a Hitchcock festival this summer. It may not be Bologna, but it was back to the big screen for us as we sampled yet more Hitchcock amongst an enthusiastic audience of London Hitch lovers.

French poster for The Lodger

The first film we saw is not available in any box set, at least not in this form. For in presenting one of Hitchcock’s earliest films, The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog, the BFI give us a digitally remastered spectacle which, it’s being a silent movie made in 1926, comes complete with a new soundtrack by none other than the multi-award-winning composer (generally found to be mixing Indian and Spanish vibes), Nitin Sawhney. How was this going to work? A film so early that its black and white pictures moved and crackled with music by one of our most contemporary and ethnically vibrant composers? Well it worked a treat. It’s worth going to see The Lodger just to sample Sawhney’s score. Perfectly thrilling, almost traditionally 1920s in parts, but occasionally intermingled with strains of contemporaneity  which worked just perfectly to emphasise the emotional potency of the scenes.

There is, for example, a scene when the stunningly stylish and devilishly debonaire Ivor Novello, playing the illusive Lodger, begins to fall for the golden-curled daughter of his landlord, Daisy (played by June Tripp) and vice versa. The love is forbidden, but unwittingly irresistable, and as the emotions begin to stir between them, the contemporary vibe of the lovers’ harmony introduced by Sawhney perfectly resonates, translating to the modern audience the depth of emotion experienced by these characters who, in every other way, are the very image of 1920s clipped and distant glamour.

Whether it be the music by Sawhney or the wonderfully expressive faces and actions of these silent movie actors, we fell in love with this movie which has since been called the first truly Hitchcockian film – full of suspense, twists, “MacGuffins” (decoys), mistakes, suspense (made all the more potent with scenes enveloped in a dense cloud of fog and mirk) and pyschological character examination. I shan’t give anything away though. As ever with Hitchcock, it’s important to come to the film ready to ride the wave of suspense which Hitchcock sets in action. All the more reason to get down to the BFI, on London’s South Bank to see it or, if you’re a little too far away, the Nitin Sawhney version is being released on amazon next month.

Next up was a second London-based Hitchcock, but filmed some quarter of a century later, long after Hitchcock had moved to America and yet yearned to return to the city of his birth to make another film amongst the naturally thrilling backdrop of London. Yet when he returned to make the next film we saw, Stage Fright, Hitchcock must have found London to be a very changed place. Shortly after the end of WW2 and with the scars of the Blitz evident for all to see, the landscape of London was visibly changed from the unharmed elegance of The Lodger’s Edwardian London. As though to emphasise the change, Stage Fright opens on a large vista of St Paul’s cathedral which, as miraculous survivor of the bombings, is shown almost unnaturally intact, stood amongst a landscape of flattened streets and desolated buildings.

Marlene Dietrich

It is along one of these desolate streets that the film’s central characters, Eve (played by Jane Wyman) and Jonathan (Richard Todd) drive in the opening scene, escaping the police from what, as Jonathan then describes, is a grizzly murder which has put him in the frame. Also starring the wonderfully glamorous Marlene Dietrich as an equally chic theatre star, Michael Wilding (who bares an uncanny resemblance to Alan Cummings) as the piano-playing Detective Wilfred, and Alastair Sim as the lovable jolly Commodore Gill, the film is a catalogue of Britain’s best of that time (asides from Dietrich of course who is evidently not English, but every bit as marvellous all the same). Again, I cannot describe the film without giving away the plot except to say that for thrills and twists, the work is equally Hitchcockian, enthralling and decadently charming. Amazing really how a film older than my mother can suck younger generations into its plot and captivate us as though it were made only the other day.

That, of course, is the beauty of, Hitchcock films, and the key to their success. They are as thrilling now as they were then, as brilliantly original, even in these days of computer graphics and 3D animation, and as completely captivating. The only difference between them and the films made today, is that in being older, when fewer tricks were possible, they include imperfections, and attempts at illusion which may, to the modern audience appear amateur, but which, in their crudeness exude charm and historical ingenuity, as they throw moving, living light on the world as it was then, an elegance now lost, a past which was naive, perhaps happier, and full of hope.

The BFI Hitchcock festival continues until October.

Related articles

Aug 20

4 Comments

The Daily Sketch: Nun Norms visit the Sacré Coeur

Back to Paris, where the Norms continue to pass the time between Olympic and Paralympic excitement by visiting the fair city at the political and cultural centre of France. But today, we do not join the typical kind of tourists. Rather, here at the stunning Sacré Coeur atop Paris’ Butte de Montmartre, two groups of Norm Nuns have come to visit their fellow Nuns who reside at one of Paris’ most iconic sacred spots. One group, from the Convent of Sister Norma in Sittingbourne (in the ordinary black habits) are not sure what is more fascinating – the Sacré Coeur and its unbeatable views of Paris below, or the strange pointy Cornette habits of their fellow nuns, visiting form El Convento de Maria Norma de Nova in Castille y Leon. Whatever their interest, all the Nun Norms are assured a happy day out in Montmartre, Paris’ crowning glory.

Nun Norms visit the Sacré Coeur, Paris (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Related articles
← Older Entries
Newer Entries →