The Peacock discusses the National Theatre's revival of Attempts on her Life

The revival of Martin Crimp's 'Attempts on her Life' at the National Theatre is fascinating and frustrating in equal quantities. From a production point of view, it is technically impressive and features any number of strong performances. However, from a textual point of view, it is as obtuse as it was when first published. Is Anne/Ann/Anny/Annie/Anya/Anushka victim or aggressor, tortured artist or suicidal madwoman? With no narrative thread to the piece, Crimp has left it deliberately open to interpretation. However, so many possible outcomes are offered, many of them conflicting with one another, that it is almost impossible to draw any conclusions. The overall effect is that of a group of actors coming together to improvise around the story of one woman's life. The ideas are all thrown into the pot, discussed, tried out - if this is a film, it's the director's cut, the high-concept and confusing version.

Katie Mitchell has directed a fast-moving, multimedia piece of theatre. The stage is stripped right back to basics; no wings, nothing hidden. A large video screen hangs above the stage and cameras and cables litter the space. Some interesting effects are achieved by the audience being able to watch both the video screen and the actors performing in front of the camera; at one point we hear a description of the central character attempting to drown herself. On the screen we see a close up of her face, struggling to control herself as she walks further into the sea, shadows of rippling water reflecting up onto her, the wind blowing her hair. On stage, we see an actress standing in front of a camera while another actor waves a wind board and shines a blue light onto her, at the same time as frantically signalling to another member of the cast across the stage. This is a high-energy show with huge amounts of things going on. There is always something to watch, wherever you look on stage. The actors are always 'on'; if they aren't speaking or interacting directly with another actor, they are working cameras, playing instruments, singing, dancing. This is a hugely multi-talented and hard-working cast. Make no mistake, this is not an easy show to do.

It is all the more frustrating, therefore, that the text doesn't really support them. Considering the central character seems meant to represent Everywoman, the play itself is one for the chattering classes. The opening and closing scenes reinforce this idea, with their multi-layered conversations, none of the characters so interested in listening to each other as in putting forward their own views and ideas on just who Anne is or was. The issues raised in the play never really hit home, because the text deals with them so dispassionately. We are never allowed to engage with the central character; this is a merely a news report, painted with a very broad brush. There is nothing shocking, nothing controversial, nothing for the audience to get excited about in Crimp's text. The power of this piece lies in its cast and production values, which are truly outstanding; it's a crying shame that the base material isn't worthy of them.

The Sparrow reviews the New Statesman current affairs magazine.

When looking to keep abreast of world affairs I find there is nothing better than settling down with a copy of The Economist.  Unfortunately, I have allowed my subscription to lapse and found myself with no other option but to head to the shops.  Abiding my Sod's law as my life tends too, the shop was out of stock and I was left with a few other current affairs magazines.  Blissful in my ignorance of the merits of any of them I picked up the New Statesman, which, the cover assured me is "Current affairs magazine of the year".  

Unfortunatley, what the cover had failed to tell me was that this award was given by the All Russian Union of Soviets.  Had I known the fact that it was little better than an English langauge version of Zvezda, I'd have probably been slightly more subtle in carrying it through the streets.  Without wishing to put too fine a point on it Jnr Senator McCarthy had people hounded out of their jobs for far less.  

To say the magazine was skewed to one side of the political spectrum would be like suggesting that Roman Abramovich had a little money.  Reading the magazine is like entering a time warp, to a time ten years ago, when people still believed Labour would be different, when people could say Tony Blair's name without feeling the need to spit three times and when Gordon Brown was not the most boring man in Britain.  Ok, I lied, Gordon Brown was the most boring man in Britain, it's just none of us knew it yet.  In New Statesman land the future is bright, the future is red.  No one mentions cash for honours, war crimes or John Prescott's promiscuity issues.  In New Statesman land the clamour of opportunist sycophants duking it out for who can be deputy leader are viewed as serious politicians engaging in due democratic process.

I never did reach the end of the issue, as I have to say, the spectre of Joseph Stalin was weighing so heavy on my shoulders that I could think of nothing else but closing the magazine praying that no one saw me with it and had informed the anti-bolshevik league of my activities. Suffice to say, I'll be sticking to The Economist, in future.

"We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to Scrap the planned vehicle tracking and road pricing policy." At the time of writing a massive 1,683,277 people have signed the petition, over one and a half million members of the electorate petitioning the Prime Minister to stop the road pricing policy, and yet despite heralding the need for debate, Mr Blair is unrelenting in his plan to get this through. His editorial in Sunday's observer demonstrated that he sees debate as him talking and us listening, not so much a debate, it would seem, but a lecture.

The state of democracy in this country is entirely shocking that such a large number of the electorate can be resolutely against something and yet the government refuses to even consider that their view may be correct.

The Sparrow has a major problem with the road pricing policy, not for financial reasons, but for the fundamental belief that citizens of this country are entitled to basic freedoms, freedoms that are eroded by legislation that effectively allows the government to know not only where everyone is all of the time, but where everyone has been. Combine this policy with the proposed legislation on mandatory biometric ID cards, the national super database, the act that allows ministers to create law bypassing parliament, and you have a situation that would send the worlds despots and neo-cons into spasms of ecstasy.

A common argument used to justify the erosion of our freedoms and civil liberties is that if you're doing nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear. This argument is an entirely erroneous one, because it is only the case if you can have absolute trust in those over you, trust that this government has never earned. The persistent message from this government has been that dissent is not tolerated, protests near parliament are massively restricted, Dr David Kelly was hounded to his death, Gilligan and Dyke forced out of their jobs.

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The Peacock struggles for a snack.

 Picture taken from Be My Anti-Valentine at meish.org/vd/

 
The Peacock muses on alternative ways of spending Valentine's Day.

So, the burning question for this time of year is what are you doing for Valentine's Day? Yep, that well-known Hallmark Holiday is just about to roll around again. It only seems a minute since I was last sitting awkwardly in an overpriced restaurant, elbow to elbow with hundreds of other couples, eating substandard food and wishing that we'd had the courage to stay at home and ignore the whole debacle.

This year it's going to be different chez Peacock. For a start, I'm single on Valentine's Day. I don't think this has been the case since I was a student and, looking back with the benefit of misty-eyed reminiscence, VD (ha - that acronym never fails to bring a wry smile to my beak) was so much more eventful in those days.

The most notable occasion was when my housemates and I went to G.A.Y. the night before VD and discovered that one of our number (male, and at the time in a serious relationship with a girl) was, in fact, gay. Unfortunately, the girlfriend discovered this by coming round a corner in the club and finding him snogging a guy. VD morning was therefore spent eating a LOT of ice-cream and chocolate while watching Hollyoaks and crying. Okay, not all that different to the average student Sunday morning, but it was imbued with extra pathos that day.

Another year, another housemate. She'd been seeing a rather dishy young man for a few weeks, who decided to dump her the day before VD. The same day, our house cat was run over and killed. Once again, VD was spent in a sea of tissues and ice-cream, before going out in the evening and drinking quite obscene amounts of cheap beer in her student union, falling over drunk and (in my case) throwing a pint over a particularly persistent guy who I'd had a brief dalliance with a few weeks before. Ah, heady days.

A few years later and I’ve disappeared to Switzerland for a skiing holiday with friends, leaving my boyfriend of the time at home while I drink far too much gluhwein, eat far too much fondue, get a tan and nearly break my neck while attempting to do a particularly showy jump on one of the blackest of the black bump runs. Needless to say, I hadn’t had such a good time in ages.

Now, I realise that none of these examples are classically perfect ways to spend the (allegedly) most romantic day of the year, but at least they were memorable. I'm a Peacock, not a Lovebird - it's all about the drama. This year, therefore, you will find me out with friends, handing out red roses and kisses to passers-by, dancing like I've never danced before and laughing like there's no tomorrow. This year it's all about loving the life I'm living and creating a day to remember - go on, give it a go, I dare you.

The Peacock is disappointed by the sloppy service at Quaglino's.

Quaglino's is, and has always been, a spectacle. Walking in through the enormous glass doors, the handles forming a large letter ‘Q’, the entrance lobby always seems deserted. Then one is swept around the corner into the mezzanine bar area, the room opens up, and the full visual feast is revealed. The famous sweeping staircase, the clever ‘skylight’ running the full length of the dining room, lit with artificial daylight and thereby concealing the fact that the restaurant is, in fact, in a basement, the shellfish counter at the far end of the room, piled high with ice, oysters and lobsters. For dedicated star-spotters, it’s not usually necessary to look too hard for minor celebrities – I don’t think I’ve ever been there and not seen at least one member of the cast of Hollyoaks. There are waiters scurrying around all over the place and the ubiquitous Cigarette Girl (presumably to be out of a job shortly, when the smoking ban comes in) floats serenely around the room. Last night she was particularly tightly laced into her corset and was causing all manner of accidents to happen, mainly of the dislocated jaw variety, and not just amongst the males in the restaurant. I don’t think I’ve seen such an impressive frontage outside of the architectural field – the phrase ‘cantilevers and cantaloupes’ was uttered by one particularly smitten member of our party.

So that’s the good points of the restaurant. Sadly, it is always let down by various factors. For me, the tables are far too closely packed, especially when there is no dedicated smoking section. The bar service is invariably lackadaisical (although I cannot fault the actual cocktails – I have drunk many an excellent martini there over the years) and, last night, reached a whole new low. There was a private party who, apparently, had sole access to the bar and anyone who wasn’t part of the party was first ignored for 15 minutes and then told brusquely to go and sit down at the draughty end of the bar by the coat-check counter, where they would receive table service. The table service did materialise, but it would have been helpful if this had been made clear from the off. To the casual observer, it appeared that only half the bar area was roped off, and the remainder open, but apparently this was not the case. The bar staff were then unable to find our tab each time a new member of our party arrived, which, as there were 5 of us, was annoying to say the least. Yes, the name was double-barrelled, but looking for the second half of the barrel, rather than the first, on the list would seem, even to a birdbrain like me, to be the height of stupidity.

When we reached our table things continued to niggle. Despite the fact that the table was laid for 5, there were only 4 chairs. Then, when we ordered a glass of wine each, only 4 glasses arrived. As the 5th member of the party, I was beginning to feel a little invisible, unusual for a peacock!

Happily, with the arrival of the food, things began to run rather more smoothly. I had a delicious chicken liver and bacon salad to start, the livers being beautifully creamy in texture and quite literally melting in the mouth. Other members of the party had sea trout with a mustard and honey sabayon, which they also pronounced to be wonderful. For the main course, the majority of our party went for braised onglet in a shallot jus. Onglet, for the record, would appear to be beef pot-roast. Quaglino’s does have a fondness for using obscure cookery terms, which is generally quite entertaining, and always an education. I like to think, being a greedy so-and-so, that I’m pretty knowledgeable about food, but there is always at least one item on any given Quag’s menu that foxes me. However, I digress. The onglet was reasonable, if a little dry and not as hot as it could have been. I suspect that my dish had been waiting too long to come out, as it arrived along with a dish of mushroom and spinach lasagne, which was apparently too hot to eat at first, and the remainder of the party were very happy with their beef. All was forgiven when it transpired that the onglet was served with mashed potato – something that Quag’s do exceptionally well. I’d happily go there for the mashed potato alone, in fact!

For pudding, we plumped for either crème caramel, served with crepes dantelle, or chocolate mousse. After attempting three times to order pudding wine: the first time our request for a menu being ignored/forgotten, the second time the wrong menu being brought, the third time finally getting the right menu; we decided on a Sauternes and an Italian Vin Santo, both of which were excellent and did, thankfully, arrive before we had finished our puddings, always a bonus. The puddings themselves were also very good, so we were feeling happily replete.

Unfortunately, just as we thought we were going to get out of the restaurant with nothing else untoward happening, our bill was wrong, to the tune of £56 more than it should have been. Now, if we’d actually drunk those two bottles of Chablis, I wouldn’t have been complaining, but we didn’t get a sniff of them, so I’m not sure how they ended up on our bill! It took 2 attempts to get the bill right, but eventually it happened. The service charge, considering all the mistakes that had been made in the evening, was pretty steep at 12 ½ %, but we’re English, chicken, and had already complained too much, so paid it while grumbling into our beards.

Overall, a lovely evening was had – the food and drinks were never less than good and were, in many cases, exceptional. The surroundings were, as ever, wonderful and the company convivial. It’s just a shame that, not for the first time in Quag’s, the service let the experience down.

The Sparrow puts the case against the resurrection of the EU constitution. 

European leaders will meet in Madrid this weekend in an effort to save the EU constitution after it's sizable defeats in referendums in both the Netherlands and France.  It's an interesting idea, reviving the constitution, being as the rules of engagement at the start of the whole constitution plan were that it must be okay'd by every member state.  Surely even the blindest, most self absorbed bureaucrats could have seen that at least one country would reject it, although one must assume that were it one of the smaller countries they would have been bullied into saying yes, but no one expected the French to give it the brush off.
 
The problem with the EU constitution is that it's merde, mierte, Scheiße, shit.  It's a stupid idea.  I'm actually in favour of the EU, I think it's far better than the old way of behaving in Europe where we spent most of our time invading each other, it has many trade benefits and synergies.  However, what I am against is becoming a federal system, which the constitution is a big step towards.  The politicians who thought up this scheme can't begin to know how out of touch with what the people want, while people want to be able to travel aroung the continent, they want the benefits to trade and the economy, they don't want to see their sovereignty eroded in a major way.  

When the individual states in America formed a union they had existed for a few decades, the problem facing Europe is that many of the countries involved have over two thousand years of history behind them, in the case of Greece and Italy, even more.  This creates an entirely different climate, and people need to see that the line is being drawn between a union of countries co-operating, and those countries becoming one.  While the constitution does not create a single country, it is a further and crucial step towards that. Without the constitution, it can't happen.
 
The meeting this weekend in Madrid is an insult to democracy, when two nations have formally rejected the constitution to continue pushing it is unfair and pure egotism on behalf of the politicians.  Even Germany, whose Parliament favour the constitution, consider this weekend to be a bad idea and sending a bad message to the electorate in France and the Netherlands.  There is no fair way to resurrect the constitution without sending the message to those who have already voted against it that their opinions do not count.  To return and ask the question again until the people give the "right" answer is precisely the kind of egotistical behaviour that makes people wary of politicians in the first place.

The constitution is dead, it's been declared so by two of Europe's electorates, surely it's time the leaders of our countries stopped wasting money on trying to resurrect it.