2008 – Issue Sixteen – London
Nationwide Mercury Prize Albums of the Year 2008
British Sea Power
Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
The Last Shadow Puppets
Rachel Unthank and The Winterset
in association with
The Introduction Why are there more Don’ts in life than there are Do’s?
Are we just more conscious of danger than we are of safety? If so, what does ‘Don’t’ stop us Doing? Disobeying the rules is a path where accidents are more likely to happen, and whether they are good accidents or bad ones, the creative mind is animated by them. Can you be creative and not make mistakes? This issue looks at what happens when the creative mind ignores the warnings and what it learns by doing so. Don’t mess with Dita; how von Teese sued Sony for treading on her toes; Edgar Wright reveals what not to do when Quentin Tarantino asks you to make a film; a cautionary tale of why Chanel couture and art dealers don’t go together; and a warning from Bunnyman, Will Sergeant, about using tour bus loos. Mike Soutar shares the don’ts and the don’ts and the don’ts of magazine publishing; and Bibi Lynch shines a guiding torch into the moral darkness that is Fleet Street. But now for some Do’s! We are celebrating our 4th Birthday on 14th November. It’s our biggest party of the year, so get it in your diaries and start thinking about who you’ll bring. We are also very excited to announce the launch of The Nationwide Mercury Prize Sessions with The Hospital Club where we will be bringing you established talent and new bands down in the studio. In October, all of you are welcome to recline and be generally aesthetic in the comfort of our VIP lounge at the Frieze Art Fair between 16th and 19th and of course poker, quiz and tasting nights are all lined up as usual. Chef will be cracking the crackling in our new cooking Master Classes, and the screening room is bursting with reassuringly brilliant pre-release goodies – Ghost Town, My Best Friend’s Girl, Gonzo: The Life and Times of Hunter S. Thompson (OK, there are a few Don’ts to learn from that one) and the Yes Man – where dos and don’ts just aren’t an option. So, between now and Christmas, see what happens if you actually do all the things you were told not to, say all the things you mustn’t - put your money where you mouth and heart are. Them what don’t ask, don’t get. P.S. Don’t ever attempt to write an introduction about Do’s and Don’ts as you copy will be only obscured by a huge flock of apostrophes.
ON THE COVER What is the first drawing you remember making
As far back as I remember, my problem was always not knowing what to draw. I liked drawing from real things that I could see around me rather than stuff from my head. Were you brought up in a creative environment
I spent my main teen years in London, but was born in Tehran and came here at the age of 9. So I’ve really missed out on a big chunk of essential ‘80’s and early ‘90’s culture. When did it become clear that this talent was going to become a career
SHAZ MADANI, 24
trained me to always try and remember to strike the right balance between visual appeal and substance, understanding my audience and finding the best way to deliver my message. How do you manage to balance commercial and personal work
It’s really important to continue doing your own personal work because this is where you can really be experimental and produce interesting ideas. And more often than not they are what land you commissions and more commercial work. Are there designers/artists etc who inspire you
I was always torn between my academic and creative sides. A lot of my teachers tried to discourage me from choosing design as a career, because it would be a waste of time. My next step was doing an art foundation.
I love design that is intelligent, simple and witty. The work of Fletcher, Forbes, and Gill is always a source of inspiration to me and I firmly believe their motto that “solutions ought to derive from the subject matter; that the designer should therefore have no preconceived graphic styles”.
Where did you train and what was it like
Where do you want to be in 10 years time
After finishing my foundation at Central Saint Martins I went on to study Design for advertising at London College of Communication. It’s
Still doing what I’m doing but hopefully in a fancier and more comfortable chair. 2
4 6 8 10 12 14 15 16 18 20
The Don’t Commandments
Dita von Don’t
Don’t be Sick in Your Handbag
The Wright Way
Getting down and Don’t-y
By Sophie Kern
The class of art
Edgar Wright with all the gory details
Where I Work
Don’t Not Do It
The serious thoughts of a comedian
Don’t Leave Your Rabbit Out at Night
You thought Watership Down was sad..?
Shortlist Founder Mike Soutar’s media launch ‘Don’ts’
The clue is in the title
Where I Work
Joanna Dudderidge photographs Aste Amundsen
Some good advice
Joanna Dudderidge photographs Mauricio Ortiz
Do Pay Attention
A polite notice from Stewart Who?
Don’ts in Journalism
Get your hankies out again, but for different reasons
Echoes of a Bunnyman
Will Sergeant on the ultimate no-no of being in a band
The Best of what’s coming up in the next 3 months
Do go there
A concise list of screenings and events
Where I Work
Joanna Dudderidge photographs Lara Clifton and Tamara Tyrer
Lydia Penke email@example.com Creative Director:
Duncan Cargill firstname.lastname@example.org
Fabia Palliser, Stewart Who? Bibi Lynch
Editorial team: Sub Editor:
Suzanne Clode Art Direction, Design and Artwork: topright www.topright.co.uk 01737 558 990
© The Hospital Group Ltd 2008. The copyright and contents of this publication are owned by The Hospital Group and no unauthorized copies of the whole or part may be made without express permission of The Hospital Group Ltd.
Byte me. I’m not saying I’m better than Facebook. I dig online communities. I court them, I indulge in them… a world wide web. A web to trap the world… I fly right into it, but my friends are slightly more… anonymous. There is purity to the showmanship. Look at the ethos of Facebook. Is it really to meet old friends and stay connected? How many old friends have you mailed, called or hooked up with since they poked their heads into your lives? None. OK the dude at the back with a smug hand in the air, waving it around liking a lottery ticket… you just won the “I go through life missing the point” star prize. A lifetime of being you… Congratulations! Remember to play again soon. Facebook is porn. It’s masturbating your own ego. Look how many friends I have. I am so fucking important I spend 30 minutes a day, not reading literature, eating, or screwing, or smoking or anything else worthwhile, that time is spent thinking of something witty, and unique, and clever and intriguing to write in my status update. Something that will bring out the curious cat in my friends. A provocative line that will titillate the audience… Am I better than you? Does my world entice, are you jealous? The wannabe generation of voyeurs and exhibitionists…
There’s no class though. I’d rather put a picture of my penis online. It’s more honest. A cleaner reaction to a look at me world… face up to the book. You are obsessed with yourselves. You are a whore to it. Facebook is your pimp. You are the prostitute. And you’re not getting paid.
Don’t underestimate the tea boy Watch him cos he sees everything. To you it’s a cup of tea. To him it is time. Time to conceive, to wander, to wonder, to make enemies, to fall in love, to stumble and fall, to persevere, to invent, to sigh, to lie, to be mischievous… Each stir resembles a circle… the circumference of the world, the people and places that one day he may just conquer. One tea bag at time, starting with yours… Don’t think outside the box If we all look outside the box who is keeping an eye on what is inside. Nice things come in boxes. And anyway, we all end up inside a box in the end. Don’t let the sun go down on me Blue skies, a horizon of opportunity; keep it light. Darkness is bad. Run to the sun. Light = laughter = a happy soul. If you disagree, move the fuck over, you’re in my sun.
Don’t save rock stars from drugs Otherwise Keith Richards will drop a coconut on your head. Some die, some live. Just like life. Rock stars need to have drug problems, just like chips need salt and vinegar. Them’s the rules. Go save an orangutan. At least he’ll say thank you.
Don’t wear a hoodie if you’re over 30. It’s from American Apparel. Good. Then it’s cheap enough to burn… It’s lazy. It’s not inventive. Unless you are a boxer, or Mickey Rourke… if it’s in a neon colour, then you’d better pray that God is listening to The Klaxons when you come a-knockin’ on the rave gates, cos I know that the Devil wears Prada. Don’t think you know or have ever met Banksy. Media c*nts claim they have and do. Like it makes them some sort transmitter to the promised land of genius. That knowing nod and cum faces of “He’s actually a really nice guy….” Anonymity creates hype. See rule no. 9.
Don’t forget the power of doing nothing. The importance of being idle is underestimated – wallow awhile. Ferris Beuller was right, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, life may just pass you by. So pass out. Nike is wrong. Just don’t do it. Have a moment of clarity. Tune in and tune out. Reflect. Pass the duchy, be restful… Write smaller sentences. Do a Lennon. Find a bed. Find your Yoko. Keep it local. There’s a time to surf and a time to wax your board. Wait for your wave. Stay cool. Don’t believe the hype Hype. Noun - exaggerated publicity; hoopla. Do you want to believe in hoopla? The hullabaloo? The ballyhoo? Maybe you could join a circus?
Don’t don’t… Why don’t when you can do. The Do Commandments, now there’s a religion. Don’t you think? 4
The Don’t Commandments
Don’t sign up to Facebook Poke. Leave me alone. Poke. I haven’t seen you since I was five. Poke. You don’t know me. Poke. Join my group. Write on my wall. Throw a teddybear. Tag me. Update your status. Give me beer. See what’s on my funwall. Find out who last viewed your profile. Face. Book. Throw book into your face.
by Chris Grave
Illustration: Christopher Walker
Don’t mess with Dita. She’s a tougher businesswoman than one might expect and is highly protective of her creative output. The ruling Queen of Burlesque is renowned for singing naked while saucily perched in a giant martini glass. This arresting mis-en-scène was recreated using Cameron Diaz as the intoxicating ingredient for a scene in ‘Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle’. Supremely miffed, Dita successfully sued the makers for copying her signature performance piece. 6
by Stewart Who?
“If somebody copies what I do in a really stupid and obvious way, like by putting a giant martini glass with a sponge olive in their film, then I have to do something. I’ve prevailed and they deserve what they’ve got.” Sounds quite ominous, eh? Don’t diddle Dita, would be our advice…and why would you want to? She’s taken great care to maintain copyright of her images, unlike many of her idols who rarely earned income from their iconic photos, Betty Page being a primary example. The Hospital Club asked Dita who might be a contemporary inspiration. “Not to be negative, but for me, no modern stars can even come close to these stars of the past that inspire me. I have a very strong admiration for women like Marlene Dietrich, Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable. These women had powerful, unchanging personas that they understood so well. These days, style is fickle. Often it’s not true and it’s inconsistent, with too much emphasis placed on being current and “of-the-moment”. Although there are many modern stars whose talent and beauty I admire, I can’t say that I can think of many celebrities that really have that unfaltering sense of themselves when it comes to their style.
mainstream feel, but she remains one of the world’s most famous tightlacers. For those who aren’t au courant with this retro-fetish, it’s a personal passion for squeezing into corsets on a daily basis. Keep this up for long enough and the user can reduce the natural circumference of the waist. Dita boasts a nifty 22 inch waist, but can be laced down to pie-repelling 16.5 inches. While for many, the fetish world offers an escape, for Dita, it’s her bread and butter…does it ever become a grind? “Well, what I do comes from my heart. It always has and still does. Creating shows and performing them are what I enjoy most. The fetish part of my career came from indulging in my own fetishes for high heels, seamed stockings, corsets.....all that was true and real for me. The funny photos of me in bondage and playing the mistress, etc... that was all me playing the part of the fetish star. “I enjoyed it, it was like play acting, but burlesque and pin-up and elegant fetish dressing felt like me, and the rest was the job. And yes, of course, after 17 years of doing this, there are days that feel like real work, and maybe I don’t want to do it... but for the most part, when I am allowed to be myself and do what I do best, I’m happy and grateful for the recognition I have, and I’m enthusiastic about my work.”
“The only woman that comes close for me is Madonna, because with each changing style she has had over the years, it looks complete and you can see that it comes from her own strong desire and idea, and I notice that every detail is perfection, especially in the her early years when she was emulating old Hollywood. Now, when a pop star wants to be retro, I can see the mistakes and they still can’t even touch what Madonna did in the early 90’s.”
The general assumption is that fetishes are the preserve of boys…and that it’s the girls who gamely go through the dressing up hoo-ha in order to keep ‘em happy. Does Dita agree with this view? “Well, the so-called experts say that men have stronger true fetishes in the sense that sex is actually replaced by the object of the fetish. For instance, someone with a foot fetish might desire the act of touching a person’s foot more than a sexual act. I have read many times that it’s a predominantly male thing to have these fetishes, but I am sure that it’s not the rule. For me, I love to wear my stockings- I love the feel of a certain type of stocking, and it matters precisely that it is fully-fashioned and all nylon....lycra stockings are out of the question for me! But for me, my fetishes enhance my sensuality and my sex life, but these things are not a replacement for intimacy and sex”.
The year 1990 proved quite a turning point for the young Dita, or Heather Renée Sweet, as she was known then. Aged 18, it was the year she changed her name and transmogrified from a pretty, plain blonde into an ambitious and leftfield sex symbol. After commissioning a Penthouse photographer to kick start her portfolio, Dita started work in a local girlie bar in Michigan. Compared to later performances, has her onstage mental landscape changed since those seedier beginnings? “Of course it’s changed dramatically over the years. I started by moonlighting in a strip club with a friend for fun and I was wearing my corsets and was always performing in a very nostalgic way, but I was just dancing around....and it wasn’t even a topless club at the time! Back then I was free to just have fun, and there was no press, no media and no one photographing it. So, years later, I became more known and had a more involved act. I had a certain obligation to live up to my fame. And now, it’s at the hilt, and I really have to take care to make sure every detail is right, and I have to be much more focused. There are much bigger challenges as the acts become more opulent and extravagant, so I have all kinds of things to think of, and of course other people helping me achieve the effect I want for the shows. Every so often, I get to do a show with no media, no photos, and it’s fun to let loose and just enjoy and know that the audience can be my only focus, and it’s almost like being in that strip club again in a way... just fun and carefree... but with better lighting and good champagne!”
It’s part of Dita’s legend that she was creatively fuelled by her father’s copies of Playboy and at the dawn of her career, she appeared in a handful of soft-core fetish flicks. There’s a fleet of feminists who feel that pornography imprisons women, would she agree? “This is always such a boring argument, and it doesn’t have much merit considering that in fact, the majority of my fans are women. Over 80% of my website members are women. My fan letters come from women that are happy to embrace the spirit of glamour and sensuality, and to consider an alternative form of sexy. I understand that feminism is about equality and the right to choose. When you tell someone like me that I shouldn’t be allowed to do what I love, because it hurts women, well, that’s not a feminist ideal, is it, because then I’m not free, and I lose my equality. When they make mainstream films, you know, the bigwigs and lawyers work out what showing the lead actress’s tits are worth, her ass is worth, etc, etc ... they put dollar amounts on everything. How is this different? Should all nudity in film be censored if it’s a woman? The feminist argument has no limits and therefore, I say it has no true merit. And above all the feminist arguments, I care only about preserving the age-old art of the showgirl.”
Throughout her career, Dita has toyed with S&M, bondage and fetish imagery and has admitted a fondness for spanking. Recently, her performances and modelling work have leaned towards a more
Illustation: Sophie Kern www.sophiekern.co.uk
here is a story about an art collector, a dealer and a visit to an artist’s studio that sums up London’s cynical art market of the 1980’s, when owning a piece of young British art was the social equivalent of being presented with an invitation to Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball. In the moral confusion of the time, the inability to spend money as fast as your husband could make it, twinned with the cultural naivety that was the product of Lucy Clayton’s and the jewellery department at Harrods, the trophy wives of London’s robber barons found their social and financial playground in the galleries of Cork, Dering and Charlotte Street.
by Duncan Cargill
The dealer in this tale, a smart, well-cut man who knew how to bring happiness at 11 o’clock in the morning without having to use contraception, took Mrs. X to an artist’s studio deep in Hackney’s trashed eastern outskirts. This
was the crucial part of the ‘full emersion’ tactic, which, by transplanting the couture clad banker/property developer’s wife from clean and tidy Kensington to the gnarled filth of E’s 10, 11 and 12, was always guaranteed to leave his prey catatonic with excitement. This was an air-lift operation dropping a collector, her money and comfort right into the heart of the cuppa-soup and bar-heater reality of the artist. Graff meets grit. And it really turned her on. This transposition was the Vaseline that opened the chequebooks, and everyone was in on it - the dealer, the artist and unbeknownst to them, the collector. Never has a bespoke, hand-embroidered, silk and cashmere Karl Lagerfeld suit been more a fish out of water. On this particular morning Mrs. X was to be presented to a particularly messy young, abstract painter. The door to the 5th floor
T ’ NO
warehouse studio opened to reveal a gruesomely paint-spattered floor, patches of light piercing through the dirty windows and the tinny radio broadcast of an appropriately grungy dirge. She immediately swooned at the sheer grubbiness of it all. The smell, she thought, was the missing link between her wet Labrador and the local Notting Hill Housing Trust Charity Shop. And the look, she just knew, was pure Comme des Garçons urban chic, so reassuring. She took a seat on a stool in front of a huge halffinished painting and her mind was filled with the joy of revisiting this experience for the benefit of her friends at dinner parties to come. So caught up was she in the romance of the scene, she was almost oblivious to the banter between dealer and artist as they discussed sizes of canvas, various prices and delivery arrangements.
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Within seconds she had opened her Chanel quilted black leather handbag and produced a chequebook. Her lips puckered, as a gentle blow of satisfaction emanated from them and slowly dried the ink on a cheque. A deal had been struck, with all the ease of slipping her foot into a Jimmy Choo, and artist and dealer were £10,000 each better off. Delighted, Mrs. X rose from the stool and walked towards the door. As she did so, she revealed an arse shaped imprint of the artist’s palate smeared across the bottom of her skirt, beautifully representing the colour range of oil paint she had so comfortably sat down onto. Neither the artist nor the collector had shouted ‘Don’t!’ This image of relationships, representing the past and perhaps the future of the art market and its dark materials, will be one to
keep an eye on for the next twelve months. Sales at the Frieze Art Fair will be a key indicator of the health of the market in London and will have an impact on the general confidence of the markets around the world. Although transactions are not country based – they are truly virtual; London is home to dealers from across the globe and its business reputation attracts international collectors and dealers. But it is expensive and the cost of space, both commercial and residential, is squeezing galleries, dealers and collectors towards new, more comfortable environs. New York and mainland Europe will inevitably benefit from this shift. However, recent London auction results and upcoming sale estimates show that the very best art is more expensive than ever. ‘Records broken’ is the headline from Sotheby’s and Christie’s in London but, it seems, as long as
your surname ends with ‘brovitch’, then the client advisory services will continue to be on the phone to you. However, if, like the majority of us, your surname is in the Smith and Jones category, we will have to be happy just to look at art. Not own it. The split between the can and can’t buy groups is the widest it has been since the last market crash at the end of the 1980’s. With the £40+ million purchases of Francis Bacon paintings, it is the oligarchs and the oil families that have lifted the top end of the market right off, exposing the middle and bottom end to an evermore unprotected and fragile position. Like the property market, where the prices will only stall and drop in Kennington, in Kensington they will rise in a steady, untouchable fashion, safe in the hands of the Lagerfeld clad, paint stained few who stick their toes - or behind - in the ‘real world’ of the artists’ studio.
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1. You and Simon Pegg made a Grindhouse trailer called ‘Don’t’. Tell me all about it – what is Grindhouse, what was the thinking behind it, the process of making it, the inspirations, who was in it, etc…
I was asked by Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez to direct a faux trailer to their double bill tribute to exploitation cinema, ‘Grindhouse’. My contribution was a riff on the European horror of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. It was a chance for me to pay tribute to Hammer, Amicus, Mario Bava and Dario Argento; as well as cult classics like ‘The Legend of Hell House’ and trashy masterworks like ‘Corruption’. My trailer was for a film called ‘Don’t’; itself a nod to the number of movies in the ‘70’s with warnings in the title; ‘Don’t Open the Window’, ‘Don’t Go in the House’ etc. It was an absolute blast to make - we shot for two and a half days in two separate spooky houses in London and we had almost thirty actors appearing in the 90 second trailer. Even though the whole double bill has been rarely seen outside of the U.S., it’s still one of my favourite things I’ve done. 2. Is there anything you’ve attempted to do, creatively, that you were advised not to but did anyway, and what were the consequences?
In my very early career at the BBC, while working on an episode of
‘Murder Most Horrid’, I was told by the producer that I had done more setups in one day than the previous director had done in an entire week. I responded by saying, “Well I should hope so”. Another time, also at the BBC I had my knuckles rapped by a producer after shooting one take of a scene with two very established comedy performers, simply because I wanted to shoot again and improve the camera shot. There is definitely a conventional wisdom to shooting comedy (especially on TV), that it should be performer-centric. My goal was always to try and have great performances and great visuals. It’s not easy to pull off at times, but it’s something I’ve strived for, to achieve a perfect balance of both. 3. What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?
Always write your own material to direct. 4. And the worst?
Take the money and run.
5. You’ve collaborated with geniuses (genii?) such as Tarantino, who else would you like to collaborate with, be they living or figures of the past?
Sometimes, if you’re a fan or someone - especially directors - you don’t want to work with them as you don’t want to ruin the magic or chemistry that they created. I have had the opportunity of working with two of my heroes and chose not to, as I didn’t want to ruin my worship of them by actually working with them.
6. What, in your opinion, is the best film ever made and why (& did they break any rules to make it)?
anymore and sold our family piano!
There’s a big difference between best 9. Which career path did you film and your favourite film. I can’t almost go down, and are glad that you didn’t pursue? nominate the ‘best’ film; I will go with my favourite, which is ‘Raising Before deciding to be a director, Arizona’. at various points I wanted to be an actor, animator, comic book writer, graphic artist and even, a 7. And what film shouldn’t have stuntman. I think I made the right been made? choice. I am not really a fan of the recent cycle of remakes - there were some If you were going to grow and great remakes in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s 10. diversify your company, how would like ‘Invasion of the Bodysnatchers’, you do it. Would you be focusing on growth in the UK or also in the US? ‘The Fly’ and ‘The Thing’. They updated the metaphors within and I just want to make pieces of made them films of their time. work that excite me and hope that audiences will feel that same buzz. The recent slew of remakes don’t 11. Do you think companies such have anything between their ears, as yours can be both good at film beyond jazzing up ‘old’ films that AND TV? are deemed too ‘slow’ and ‘boring’ Sure. Why not. I don’t think there’s for today’s youth. any trick to making films in the UK. As long as there is real passion Lately, I could have really done and not just commerce, then I without remakes of ‘The Wicker think people all around the world Man’, ‘The Omen’, ‘Halloween’, will respond. ‘Assault on Precinct 13’, ‘Dawn of the Dead’, ‘Day of the Dead’, ‘The Although ‘Shaun of the Dead’ Fog’, ‘The Ring’, ‘The Eye’, ‘The and ‘Hot Fuzz’ could be deemed Haunting’, ‘The Hills have Eyes’, commercial films, they also are ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, ‘The Hitcher’, ‘The Invasion’, ‘The surprisingly personal and there is a huge amount of TLC that went Italian Job’, ‘Planet of the Apes’, into both. I’d like to think that ‘Red Dragon’ and many more…. audiences worldwide recognized that. Please make them stop. 8. If you could learn any other skill, what would it be?
I can edit a little, but would love to do a course and really finesse it. But I wish I had learnt to play an instrument. The piano. I started learning when I was 5 but my parents couldn’t afford the lessons
Edgar Wright is currently working on a new project, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, coming soon to cinema near you…
Where I Work
Mauricio Ortiz, artist, in his West London home studio. Photographer: Joanna Dudderidge, 07813 892744 The Hospital Club Mentoring Programme 2007
I’ve been writing for 16 years and am slightly concerned that this feature is the easiest commission I’ve had. A ‘write about your successes’ brief would’ve had me scratching not only my own head but everyone else’s in the queue to sign on. But ‘don’ts in journalism’? A list of absolute no-nos? Do these and you’ll never work again? Piece of piss. Sadly. Attempting to pitch this perfectly, I wondered if I should gear my words towards budding journalists or simply to those who enjoy other people’s fuckups. I then of course realised there is no difference. (Journalists can be fabulously cruel.) So here are my words. Here are my don’ts.
et’s start with the obvious. Don’t miss deadlines. (But do know you usually have a few days leeway — commissioning editors are as time-paranoid as you are tardy.) Don’t go over the word count. (Any superfluous stuff will be cut — so your hilarious gags and profound bon mots will be lost forever.) Don’t write like an idiot. Correct spelling, grammar and punctuation is important, ain’t it? Sub editors are there to tweak your copy, not wipe your arse. Ah,
those wonderful subs. (Heh. I am now demonstrating another rule: slime up to subs and don’t annoy them, for they have the power to slash your work.) Oh, and don’t let the picture desk choose the photo for your by-line — provide your own — because they’ll invariably pick the shot where you look like Sarah Palin before the lipstick and after she found out her 17-year-old daughter was knocked-up. Not pretty.
Don’t have a niche. They say get a niche. But don’t get a niche. It’s nice to be known as the best gardening journalist in Britain, say, but there is a limit to the number of gardening features that are needed. Writing about one subject will severely cramp your earning style. I, apparently, am a sex expert. (A ‘sexpert’, if you will.) One of my first ever features was about embarrassing moments in the bedroom (other people’s moments, not mine) and it was for Company
magazine. The editor praised the piece and praised me for being ‘a woman who calls a vagina a vagina’ (?) and from then on I’ve been tarred with that sticky sex brush. I’ve written about sex for many many publications and, even now, I’d say a third of the work offered to me is sex-based. I would like it to stop. I never set out to write about sex and I’m no sex expert! (‘Sexpert’, if you will.) Goddamn it, I even managed to not have sex the entire time I had a sex column
by Bibi Lynch
in GQ!! So please, please, PLEASE ask me to write about something else!!! So, yes, don’t have a niche. Don’t be ridiculous in front of editors. You may think you get on well, you may think you are friends, but they are still your ‘boss’ and can choose to not employ you. Obvious advice? Well, tell that to me 10 years ago… A friend of mine was working on a magazine and he invited me along to their weekly Friday afternoon wine-in-the-office session. The editor, a lovely woman called Marina, was there and I wanted to impress her so she would give me work. So what did I do? I got drunk, walked up to her, sat too close to her on a desk, and then sang ‘Marina, aqua Marina, what is that strange smell of fish?’. Dear God.
Don’t get so stressed that you tell the truth. There is nothing quite like the head-whirling, gut-spasming angst that juggling several deadlines will bring on. That level of pressure (I know I’m not talking about saving lives here, but bear with me) makes you mad for an hour. And that hour can be costly. I’m ashamed to say, in that state of mind, I’ve refused to rewrite an article when I thought I’d delivered (and my head was about to explode); I have coldly told an editor I didn’t care what he thought about my copy; and I’ve hotly insisted the features editor wouldn’t need any changes if she hadn’t completely altered the brief after I’d filed the work. Don’t trust other journalists. Don’t tell them your ideas. And certainly don’t give any pre-interview chats —
or you might find your jokey, ironic, self-deprecating comments printed as dry, damning commentary in a Sunday supplement. (William L., you know who you are.) Don’t forget the words you type in your dark, dank study are actually read by people in the outside world — and maybe even stored forever on the ‘Net’. So don’t reveal anything you don’t want out there. Like having three eggs left and being desperate for a baby. For instance. Or getting booed at a wedding. Or having a crush on Simon Cowell. Or forgetting to change the identity of your friend Suzy, whose boyfriend’s nan walked in on her and her man while she was straddling him naked — except for some pink fluffy bunny ears. (Shit. Have I done it again?)
Some more don’ts… Don’t forget to network. (Making contacts and friends in power means making dollar. Fact.) Don’t be libellous. (Yes, the publication might take the financial rap, but your career will take an almighty slap.) If you’re freelance, don’t have all your work eggs in one soonto-be-folding basket. Don’t have ‘relations’ with anyone commissioning you. (You don’t want the work to dry up when you dry… I simply can’t say it.) And don’t, no matter how funny or apt it is, use the word ‘c*nt’ in your copy. (Even if you are writing about Sharon Osbourne.) Finally, don’t ever jeopardise any future work by drawing attention — in print — to your cock-ups over the years. Oh.
usic was the answer. I had noticed the Beatles songs wafting past my pram in the early sixties, then they wafted past my tricycle and then my pogo stick and home-made stilts. I liked them but they kept on wafting past. As I got a little older I began to go to the gigs of all the progressive rock giants, Emerson Lake and Palmer, Yes, Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull. We were Trogs. Trogs? A slightly tartedup version of the hippie tribe. Velvet or satin jackets, flamboyant scarves, penny round-collared flowery shirts, super wide loon pants. This was our peacock trim, a short skip across the cosmic stepping-stones to Bolan and Bowie.
I have been into music since I was about twelve, what else was there to do?.... It was the early seventies. A black and white telly with three channels or a ouija board for entertainment. The telly had a few things to interest me but mostly it meant nothing. Terry Scott, Mr. Pastry, Harry Worth, and Charlie Drake, these tossers always seemed to be on. The reason most of you have never heard of them is they were shit and are never featured on those endless crappy one hundred best comedy shows. And the ouija board was great if you wanted to be shitting your pants every night. 18
I lived in a small village on the periphery of Liverpool called Melling. We had to deal with skinhead gangs from neighbouring Kirkby on a regular basis. I say deal with, what I mean is, run away from - not that easy to do in a reeking Afghan coat, loon pants and 4 inch platform clogs. I didn’t know much back then, but one thing I did know, was that I didn’t want to be a skinhead. It was about 1971. I had a paper round, you won’t remember them, it was one of the ways peados got hold of kids before the Internet came along. I used my wages up on albums, you won’t remember them either. They were black and round and had sound trapped inside their grooves and the only
by Will Sergeant
way to let it out was to spin it round and round and stick a pin into the ploughed surface. I dreamed of being like Yes guitarist Steve Howe or Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page. We all did, all the Trogs anyway. I was thirteen, I was going to start a band and we were going to be great. I even had a name for this fictitious combo: ‘Poltergeist’. I think it’s still a good name today. I may even use it to make a concept album with Roger Dean artwork. Keep you eyes on those bargain bins at your local Oxfam. I saved up my paper-round wages and bought a guitar from some kid who lived up our road. They were a slightly dodgy family; one of the big brothers had cracked a Skinhead milkman over the head with a poker a few weeks before. Thirteen quid, not bad for a Hoffner; I didn’t ask any questions. It had taken quite some time to get the thirteen quid together, but it took no time at all to realize I didn’t know how to play the bleeding thing. It made my fingers hurt and drove me mad. I never learned to play it. I couldn’t even tune it up. I had no concept of how music works (no change there then). “How can you be in a band if you don’t even play a guitar”. A few years of listening to prog was not enough training, it takes effort. I was starting to realize guitars were a bit complex; well, they were the way Yes and Jethro Tull used them, anyway. I sold my guitar, got four quid (never been good with money) and gave up.
Fast-forward to Spring 1977, when I was working as a comy chef in Liverpool city centre. I had become aware of a punk club in Liverpool called Eric’s - not a very punk sounding name, a bit of a rat hole. I started to go every chance I could, to get my music fix. Every punk band under the sun played. But wait, who’s this, ‘Television’ from New York? They looked like skinny punks but the music was more complex, it had evolved, not quite the prog rock of my youth, somewhere in-between. Technical, but edgy and brittle. Could I learn this new punk rock thrash? Maybe! It could be worth going back to the guitar. I swapped a pair of plastic punk pants with Paul Simpson, one of my Eric’s mates, for a shitty guitar. I was back in business. Then Pere Ubu from Cleveland Ohio came over and played at Eric’s. Pere Ubu’s keyboard player had the look of a Kraut rock refugee, all beard and scruffy hair. He played a homemade plywood synthesizer that gushed and squealed with the breathy hiss of escaping poison gas. I had seen Brian Eno in 1972, in full plumage with Roxy Music when all he had was a Revox tape recorder and a synth that was controlled by a small joy stick, and this yankie geezer reminded me of Eno’s ‘look weird, but do sod-all approach’. I liked it. New York duo Suicide were Pere Ubu’s support act, psychotic rock n’ roll with a buzzing beat. I know, it’s 19
incredible, two legendry American bands at once. The best seventy five pence I’d ever spent. Punk rock had blown my mind, but now things were getting very strange. My poor spongy brain was being twisted between the electronic world of Suicide (the band, not the act), the intense guitar genius of Television, with the beardy-weirdy from Pere Ubu circling around the outside and Brian Eno getting a piggy-back ride. Time to get serious! I went to Hessys music store, next door to my place of work. I put a deposit down on a black Fender Telecaster guitar and signed an H.P agreement. Seventeen pounds fifty a month for twelve months. Back in Melling, I sent off for an amp, from our neighbour Mrs. Mazenko’s Freeman’s catalogue. A few weeks later, back at Hessys, I spotted something at the back of a glass case… it was a drum machine, a mini pops junior. Some of you might have heard of them, they are from the twentieth century, they came before samplers. A small wooden box that ticked away like it had its own little Klaus Dinger trapped inside. I bought it on the spot. My wages all gone, I headed back home and started making recordings on a cassette. I was using my dad’s electric shaver suspended over the pickup of my new guitar, the drum machine pulsing away in the background. I would spend hours
perfecting the constant sweep and fall of the tone emitted. Swinging the shaver back and forth across the strings; the resulting drone was a bit like Tangerine Dream, I convinced myself. If nothing else, it kept me away from the crap on the telly…. I was on my way. Thirty years later, this is what I have learned. Basically, do what you want in rock n’ roll. The only ‘don’t’, in my experience, that any rock n’ roller sticks to, is not what you might think. It’s not “don’t give the band a shed-load of drink and drugs just before they are about to do the biggest gig of their lives”, nor “don’t allow them unlimited studio time so they can dick around for the next six months on the cowbell sound”, nor “don’t keep telling them how great they are so they become arrogant little pricks that think the world owes them a living”, nor even “don’t let them near politics just because they have written a few soppy lyrics and think they can sort the world out” (we all know who these cunts are)… No, the ultimate no-no in rock and roll is: “don’t have a shit in the tour bus toilet”. Will Sergeant is the guitar player in the band Echo and the Bunnymen.
Where I Work
Lara Clifton and Tamara Tyrer are the founders of The Whoopee Club, who are the UKâ€™s leading producers and agents of leftfield performance talent and who kickstarted the entire UK neo-burlesque movement. Here they are pictured in their office, situated above the Bethnal Green Working Menâ€™s Club. Photographer: Joanna Dudderidge, 07813 892744 The Hospital Club Mentoring Programme 2007 20
“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.”
o wrote Mark Twain. The little fucker. Because once it’s in there, once that pernicious little virus of a thought starts spreading into every synapse of your foment-filled brain... Well. You’re buggered.
DO N’T NOT DO IT
Ever since then, whenever I face a decision, no matter what, that bastard quote pops up, and I find myself thinking “no, I must, I must do it, because otherwise I’ll regret not doing it”, even if substantial parts of me are thinking... Don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t drive to the seaside for midnight on New Year’s Eve. Don’t go to your mad friend’s wedding when you have to get up at 4.45 the next morning. Don’t just wildly accept an offer of a free venue at the Edinburgh Festival when you’ve never done stand-up before. I will find it particularly hard when confronted by the thoughts “Don’t bungee jump” which has always seemed a fairly senseless act. It’s like a (hopefully) consequence-free suicide attempt, hurling yourself off a building with some elastic strapped to your ankle. Sure. Why not? While we’re at it, let’s take a fatal dose of painkillers and then puke them up at the last minute! Rocking. Wooo! Ex-TREME.
by Jake Yapp
There has to be a cut-off point with this whole Twain idea. I mean, I don’t particularly want to nail my genitalia to a coffee table like those blokes did in that court case. On a more banal note, I really hate desiccated coconut, so not buying some biscuits with dessicated coconut in them probably wouldn’t
cause me to erupt into a bout of self-recrimination for an opportunity missed. I did do it, though, recently. I don’t mean about the biscuits. For about two years I’d been trying to get a meeting with John Lloyd, the revoltingly-talented man behind Blackadder, Spitting Image and QI, to pitch him an idea. And then in May of this year, I found myself sitting in a waiting room, and he walked in and sat next to me. He even made eye-contact and gave me a half-smile. And for fully two minutes, I sat there saying to myself “Come on. Come on, you little prick. Do it. Do it. Think of Mark Twain. How much will you kick yourself if you don’t?” And then a woman came in for him. Shit! But here’s what she said: “Hi, John, just to let you know, it’ll be another 5-10 minutes before we’re ready for you...” I took that as my cue. I did it! I became that obnoxious twat. I told him I’d been trying to get a meeting with him, that I had an idea I thought he’d like. The whole spiel. And he listened very sweetly and attentively. He took my number. He liked the idea so much he said he’d incorporate it into the pitch meeting he was going to there and then! Unbelievable. The one thing is... He hasn’t phoned me since then.
He’ll regret that. You mark my words.
RABBIT OUT AT
R U O Y
by Stewart Who?
he terrapins were an exotic mistake. ‘Toast’ and ‘Marmalade’ were purchased in Chapel Market alongside a plastic, kidney shaped pool complete with a fake palm tree. Of course, this was before they were declared an endangered species. Before they were banned entirely, there were tabloid tales of terrapins growing to the size of dustbin lids, prowling the sewers and crawling from garden ponds to eat lazy children. A tiny part of my 11-year old brain understood they should be in the sun, so the poor fuckers received generous blasts of bright light from a cheap desk lamp in my bedroom. The little turtles would come out of the water and ‘sunbathe’ but they weren’t cut out for life in a mock Tudor semi-detached… and died. Despite the overwhelming grief, a small part of me was pleased they could be buried together in a large matchbox, so Toast and Marmalade received a solemn Catholic funeral in the back garden. Living near the Thames, I considered flinging them in the river, but didn’t like the thought of their little corpses getting mashed up in Teddington Lock.
Having accrued a taste for unusual animals, my next pet was a lopeared rabbit. Essentially, they’re like other rabbits except their ears droop to the floor instead of pointing up. They’re rather like flaccid cocks and are just as nice to stroke. ‘Floopy’ was snow white, red-eyed and according to my Granny, “as big and brainy as a cat”. He lived in a two-roomed hutch, but loved nothing more than to roam ‘round the garden, hopping about, ears dragging behind him like comedy pig tails. He’d bound up the lawn to greet visitors and came 3rd in a beauty pageant at Surbiton Pet Club.
was a whirl of glamour, despite it’s proximity to crime-fuelled incarceration. While dancing to Irene Cara’s ‘Fame’ you could look out the window at the prison’s high walls, topped with rolls of barbed wire. I imagined the inhabitants wearing shackles, while I wore two-tone leg warmers. over me. Unable to speak, I looked up to her for sympathy… My mother didn’t approve of the or something. She didn’t move to leg warmers or the disco, so in comfort me; instead, she spoke order to indulge both habits, I with quiet fury. ran away a lot. On return, she’d beat the hell out of me, often so “THAT’S how I feel when you run hard she’d collapse exhausted and away and I don’t know where you crying. Added to this, school was are.” proving a tad difficult for various reasons, so I’d bunk from there With that, she was gone, but too, choosing to chain smoke in you know what? I got it. In that car parks and watch video nasties grim moment, I grew up and felt instead. Throughout all this, the birth of burdens in an adult Floopy and his long, soft ears world. Death, murder, grief… provided white, fluffy comfort. the agonising torment of a parent He didn’t mind my new found who fears for the life of their addiction to Kim cigarettes, child. They crashed over me like pin-stripe jeans and cider. Aside an emotional wave, then receded, from the occasional nip or scratch, leaving me washed up on the Floopy was never violent or full of bathroom floor, spluttering and rage. gasping for air. A harsh lesson? Well, everything else had failed, so It was a mistake to give him the my mum was forced into drastic run of the garden overnight. action. Slapping, grounding, One summer morning, he didn’t thumping and screaming didn’t appear when his name was called. prevent my runaway habits, ‘Floopy!’ went my cries, but all I but this episode forced instant found were small tufts of white empathy…and I never ran away fur, hooked on the thorns of a low again. lying rose bush. The full horror didn’t dawn ‘til I found a chunky I got another rabbit, a lop-eared gobbet of flesh, blood and fur. It chinchilla, but I’d learned my was quite obvious that in the case lesson - DON’T leave your of Floopy Vs The Fox, my prize rabbit out at night. rabbit had come to a gory end. Howling with shock and awe, I ran into the house and cradled the toilet, yakking up with grief and distress. As the hot tears and bilious snot clogged my eyes and throat, I felt my mother standing
T I B B A R Oh, yes, you may laugh at that. How suburban. How mental. Perhaps it was, but if the kids of today had lop-eared rabbits to groom and love, perhaps they wouldn’t be skunk crazed, gun-toting fiends. Incidentally, Surbiton Pet Club still exists, but is fighting for survival with only 90 or so members compared to the thousands who flocked there in the ‘70s. According to their website, ‘house proud and busy parents could be to blame for dwindling numbers’. House repossessions and the current credit pinch might also force a family to eat their parrot/ kitten/guinea pig. You can’t dine on a rosette, but Kitten Paw & Parrot Casserole could feed an entire brood.
OUT AT As the ‘80s progressed and adolescence ensued, I found myself strangely attracted to the tunes of the Goombay Dance Band and Tight Fit. I hung out with local kids whose parents worked as warders in the nearby remand centre. They had their own social club and the under 18s disco
ShortList Founder Mike Sou Don’t assume ANYTHING is going to be as easy it sounded in the brainstorm meeting. When we first conceived of ShortList - having come from the ferociously competitive world of paid-for magazines - we assumed that giving one away would one of the lower bars we’d attempted to jump in our careers. We discovered that arranging for over 500 merchandisers to turn up in 10 cities nationwide very early every Thursday was tough. THEN we learned that most busy commuters assume that ANYTHING given away for free is crap. Put these two challenges together and you start get the feel of ShortList’s early months.
Don’t arrange to see your wife for a meal at the The Wolseley with old friends visiting from America during the
first year of any media launch. Life in launch mode becomes the thin cracks between meetings and sessions peering at designs. Crises and vital can’t-wait-decisions somehow KNOW when friends are visiting from abroad or a relative is having a birthday and conspire to cancel them. Just sign out of civilization entirely until peace is declared.
Don’t think about the banter you just had with a competitor in the cab on the way home. There are some sweet, good-natured people who wish you well in a new venture, but on the whole, the media is filled with peevish, jealous, competitive types who will spend hours expressing their ‘friendly’ concern about the terrifying risks you’ve taken. They are media sledging. An art form intended to undermine your confidence and staunch their own self-doubt.
Don’t go to focus groups outside Croydon without booking a cab home. The heat of creation often leaves you stranded on a provincial train platform hoping that the delayed 10.30 to London Bridge will arrive before the pubs empty... and drunk people start asking you about the big portfolio bags you’re carrying. The cab seems like extravagance, but order it anyway.
Don’t Google yourself more than once a week. Any high profile project will attract comment, rumour and sniping. Even though you want to know what people are saying, try to keep your fingers from typing your own name into the search box. You will just stay up all night composing ripostes you’ll never send and someone will tell you what they’re saying the next day anyway.
Don’t expect a trade paper to choose the picture in which you look thinner. Discard your dignity early - it will only slow you down. You don’t get to run anything big and look cool, unless you’re Mark Ronson. Enter my name into YouTube and you see a man who knows that brand fame matters and suavity has to wait till you’ve made your fortune.
Don’t drop all that starchy formality We held onto some corporate habits when we created ShortList Media. There is something to be said for scheduled meetings with agendas even if you’re in the middle of something huge and cool. Simply shouting in corridors or throwing ideas to each other written on sushi seems clever at the time but will – yes it will - spiral into chaos.
utar’s media launch “Don’ts” Don’t underestimate other people’s areas of expertise Every now and then my personal trainer suggests a coverline, or a relative pitches a magazine launch for people who collect Chinese beer bottles and I wonder why they feel they can do my job with no experience or training. The same goes for the people who find you an office or organise your party or market your website – they know stuff you don’t. It’s easy to assume you can do everything.
Don’t cancel lunch No one’s suggesting Ollie Readstyle four-day binges, but a sharp, main-course-only-one-glass-ofPouilly-Fume luncheon can let people know that you’re doing well enough to pop out for a bit, that you still remember how to smile and they really ought to help you out when they get the chance.
Don’t forget to laugh at your colleagues rubbish taste in music /fiddly facial hair It’s busy and serious and there’s income to be generated but if you allow a workmate to experiment with sculpted sideburns without singing Vienna at him, then your workplace is too sad to support human life. Sooner or later human life will leave.
Don’t do three post-9pm nights in a row The camaraderie and Blitz-spirit fun of a REALLY late night can be very bonding, plus the exhaustion itself breaks down inhibitions and often produces brilliant creative work. But by Night Three, everyone starts to feel as though they’re in a student flatshare... just without the youthful exuberance and casual sex.
Don’t tell anyone their line/script/viral isn’t funny Funny is personal in a way that most other areas of endeavour aren’t. It is possible to tell someone their spreadsheet could be more detailed, but unwise to tell them their picture caption is not funny - they tend to take that as meaning their entire life, self-image and self-esteem is based on a horrible misapprehension. Just say you’re thrilled with their contribution and will save the idea for an appropriately big moment.
Don’t hide the bad news There will always be problems (not ‘challenges’, no. Challenges are sponsored walks and fun runs). Let everyone who needs to know understand what the issues are honestly and early – they can probably help and will definitely try.
Don’t take “They’re out” for an answer ShortList sold an ad to a man who was part of the way through a long, ‘relaxed’ Friday lunch with another media owner in a basement bar. This was because our MD, Karl Marsden, called everyone he’d ever known and asked them to help him track his target. Four calls later we had our man, and our page. Obviously if he’d been cave diving in Brazil we would have had to have stretched the copy deadline.
Finally… Don’t let anyone creative take the minutes. There is a role for ideas people with short attention spans - nothing great can be achieved without them - but THANK THE LORD for people who can remember to pay the electricity bill on time and type up their notes before going to the pub.
Aste Amundsen, aerial performer and artist in her home/ rehearsal space which is based in a redundant science block of an old listed school building. Her acts seen in such places as the White Mischief shows include doing an aerial performance involving an accordion, an act where she cycles upside down and another which involves fabulous steampunk sound suits which can be used in interactive games and art pieces.
Where I Work
Photographer: Joanna Dudderidge, 07813 892744 The Hospital Club Mentoring Programme 2007
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What Just Happened? Director: Barry Levinson Cast: Robert DeNiro, Bruce Willis, Stanley Tucci USA / 2008 / 107 min / Pathe Genre: Comedy / Drama
Producer Art Linson is trying to get a film made in two weeks, with no support from his family, the production company, the film’s director, or even the starring actor. Indeed, Bruce Willis seems to be more on an anti-collaborative kick, as he refuses to shave his beard or lose his pot belly. Dog-eat-dog, is the movie business.
Ghost Town Director: David Koepp Cast: Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, Téa Leoni USA / 2008 / 102 min / Paramount Genre: Comedy / Fantasy
He sees dead people. But Bertram Pincus hates people. It’s like that TV programme, The Ghost Whisperer, in the sense that all the dead people of New York have unfinished business that they want Pincus to complete, but different because he doesn’t want to help them and wishes they’d all leave him alone.
Karaoke Can you sing like Norah Jones? The answer is no, but you should attempt it. Whether you boast sultry, dulcet tones or high-pitched hysteria (Abba), all songsters are welcome at our new karaoke night, brought to you by The Hospital Club Crooners and Xbox. We’re not going to force the issue, but we are going to bribe you; the best vocalist will be awarded a prize. Not a brilliant one, mind you, but a reward nonetheless. Join us, because otherwise we’ll be singing to an empty room.
Members’ Events Highlights
highli 27 Film4 FrightFest
(till Nov 1)
Film4 FrightFest is the UK’s biggest and best horror fantasy festival. It began in 2000 and has steadily grown in size and world stature ever since attracting major directors, world premieres and iconic stars. This October Film4 FestFest Redux comes to The Hospital Club.
Director: Oliver Stone Cast: Josh Brolin, Richard Dreyfuss, James Cromwell USA / 2008 / 100 min / Lionsgate
Genre: Drama / Biography
The question on everybody’s lips: what was he thinking? Upon his entry into the Whitehouse in the year 2000, we were wary of George W. Bush, but never prepared for the political wreckage that he would create. The question answered in this film: how the hell did he get there in the first place? No tissues necessary…
The Hospital Club Birthday Party We are turning 4! Expects outrageous cocktails, delicious food, music, DJs, a right royal gala of entertainment and a top secret theme which, if we told you now what it is, we would have to kill you. Intrigue, deception, double crossing and a big slice of glamour – we will let you know in good time… As in previous years we are rolling the boat out with a big bash, except this time you won’t be needing your ice skates. In club years, 4 is 19 so it’s all about intrigue, deception, double crossing and irritable glamour. We will let you all know in good time…
Blindness (preview) Director: Fernando Meirelles Cast: Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Alice Braga USA / Brazil / 2008 / 120 min / Pathé Genre: Drama / Mystery
What’s more chilling than a whole city waking up blind? Being the only person who can still see. I mean, what’s wrong with you? How come you’re immune to the blindness? Are you a weirdo? The ‘white blindness’ has infected everyone and they are being quarantined, creating a new society with new rules.
Waltz With Bashir Director: Ari Folman Cast: Ari Folman, Ron Ben-Yishai, Roni Dayag Israel / 2008 / 90 min / AE Genre: Documentary / Animation / Biography
Forgetting the past is part of getting on with the future, but sometimes this only means you have no idea what happened to you. Director and animated actor Ari Folman is on a mission to discover his lost memories, shrouded in the details of the Israeli Army, in the first Lebanon War in the early 1980s.
Members’ Events Highlights
Director: Clark Gregg Cast: Sam Rockwell, Anjelica Huston, Kelly MacDonald USA / 2008 / 92 min / Fox Genre: Comedy / Drama
Victor is a sex addict; or rather he’s addicted to sex addict meetings, where he picks up and beds women. His other tendency – or quirk - is that he pretends to be a choking victim to try and raise money for his sick mother; how, we don’t know. He also fears that he is the next coming of Jesus Christ, so he needs some therapy.
hlights Che: The Argentine Director: Steven Soderbergh
Cast: Benicio Del Toro, Javier Bardem, Julia Ormond USA / 2008 / 100 min / Optimum Genre: Drama / War
This is the first of two Soderbergh biopics about our dearly beloved; Che Guevara. The story follows Guevara as he becomes one of the key figures in the Cuban revolution. Expect many abstract shots of rugged and bearded men, with cigar smoke curling around their decisions and lot of revolutionary rhetoric – in Spanish.
Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson Director: Alex Gibney
Cast: Hunter.S.Thompson, Johnny Depp, Jimmy Carter, Tom Wolfe USA / 2008 / 118 min / Optimum Genre: Documentary/Biography
Fuelled by a raging libido and superhuman doses of drugs, Thompson was a true “free lance” goring sacred cows with impunity, hilarity, and a steel-eyed conviction for writing wrongs. Focusing on the good doctor’s heyday, 1965 to 1975, the film includes clips of never-before-seen (nor heard) home movies, audiotapes, and passages from unpublished manuscripts.
Changeling Director: Clint Eastwood Cast: Angelina Jolie, John Malkovich, Jeffrey Donovan USA / 2008 / 140 mins / Universal Genre: Drama
Yet another circumstance of ‘I want never gets’. A kidnapped child is returned to his mother, but she realises immediately that he is not her son. In order to find out the truth, she must face the corrupt Los Angeles police department and the judgemental public eye during the oppressive and sexist Prohibition era. 31
In the words of Liza Minnelli: ‘Divine decadence darling!’ We’re putting on another fantabulous cabaret show at the club and it’s going to be even more exciting than the last one – if possible. We don’t want to give too much away because it’s going to be the best thing since…the last show…but you would be senseless to miss it.
Speed dates UK and London
16 - 19 Frieze Art Fair
30 The British Independent Film Awards 2008
Frieze Art Fair takes place every October in Regent’s Park, London. The fair provides an environment to introduce and showcase new and established artists to visitors from around the world, and The Hospital Club are hosting the VIP area!
As far as award ceremonies go, this one is relatively new. The title says it all really, but seeing as The Hospital Club is all about supporting the less established – while facilitating the well known –we think it’s important to note this in the creative diary. Who says British filmmaking is down the pan? Lock up Mr. Ritchie and maybe we’ll have a chance…
16 - 17 Connections at The Royal Horticultural Halls
Connections is (apparently) ‘the place to find talent for all your campaigns, editorials, catalogues and other visual productions’. So if you’re in search of talent and a schmooze, you should head over to Connections and…err…connect with the talent you find there. But really, over 1000 photographers and illustrators will be on view, and you can “view” them all with pleasure and interest. 15 - 30 The Times BFI 52nd London Film Festival
This needs little introduction or explanation. The LFF is one of the most famous and worthy film festivals in the world and always presents a plethora of golden opportunities for you to see the films you have always and never known you wanted to. 2-6 Art London 2008 at The Royal Hospital Chelsea
Celebrating its 10th anniversary this year, Art London is an exhibition that will show the likes of British artists Graham Sutherland, Barbara Hepworth, Terry Frost and Henry Moore, amongst several others. There will be a display of the international artist as well, so as not to be too nationalistic, and the whole affair will be a quite a fine fair (geddit)? 3 - 30 Between Heaven & Hell: The Films of Ulrich Seidl
The ICA is always worth checking out as a hubbub of creativity and often quirky exhibitions. To mark the release of Ulrich Seidl’s Import Export, there are some screenings of his dark and sometimes appalling portrayals of society and its workings. Provocation aside, if you’re looking for something different this scary season, Seidl’s cinema is pretty harrow-eening. 7 - onwards Oedipus at The National Theatre
Well, we’ve got Ralph Fiennes as our protagonist, and we all know how much ol’ Ray loves to ham it up in a tragedy. Think back to the English Patient and remember who his brother is. Anyway, The National and Jonathan Kent are putting on a new production; accordingly filled with incest, inevitable misfortune and, let’s face it, adulterated incest. 18 Crispival ‘08 The world’s first Crisp Festival
Crunch time! A festival for anyone that holds a special place in their heart for the heroic but humble crisp. A true British icon from playgrounds to pubs, finally the crisp has a special day all to itself. Coming a few days after the birthday of the godfather of potatoes, Christopher Columbus, it’s not only a day filled with crisp tasting, crisp inspired music, games, cocktails, and stalls, but an official vote to put paid to the eternal question: What really is the best crisp of all time?
14 - 23 London Jazz Festival
Back in the ‘70’s, when all those cool cats were getting groovy baby, the Camden Festival added a Jazz week to the programme. The rest is history. This year’s line up is very eclectic and thus alluring to all you jazz enthusiasts, with performances by the likes of Herbie Hancock and Mercury Prize nominees (who performed at our very own Hospital Club Studios) the Portico Quartet. Come and support the oldies and the newbies, in true Hospital Club fashion. 4 - onwards Gethsemane at The National Theatre
This David Hare production is applicable to all the media moguls who – let’s face it – in this day and age, are able to pull just about anything off with the aid of some good PR. What with all the cross-disciplinary ways of doing business and making media, are we all headed for the olive garden?
December: 15 - 30 The Nutcracker at The Royal Opera House
Yes, an oldie but such a goodie. The Royal Ballet will be floating, balancing, prancing and dancing on stage in this classic production of Christmas tradition and flight of the imagination. Everyone will be there; the Sugar Plums, the Mouse King, Dr. Drosselmier, Clara and, of course, Nutcracker himself. 1-2 The Man Who Pictured Space from His Apartment at the BAC
As with most things at the BAC, this production is a little bit eerie, somewhat strange and definitely original. Cupola Bobber are an experimental performance collective from Chicago. There will be mechanics, cardboard and lots of lights. A visual feast for one and all. 1 Announcement of the winner of the Turner Prize 2008
Big deal, mais non? The winner of the Turner Prize will be announced at the Tate Britain in a live broadcast - or you could wangle your way down to the gallery itself and be part of the action. There’s a rumour that Jude Law’s going to be there too, so if you’re not into art, then maybe you can still get something out it.
01 What Just Happened? 9pm (SR)
Writing Salon 7pm (RR) Gomorrah 7pm (SR)
Raindance - Production Office 9pm (SR)
Boy In The Striped Pjamas 7pm (SR)
How to Lose Friends... 7pm (SR)
House Bunny 2pm (SR) Red Belt 7pm (SR)
Xbox Karaoke 7pm (GR) RocknRolla 7pm (SR)
IGOR 2pm (SR) Death Race 7pm (SR)
Poker Night 7pm (FR) Righteous Kill 9pm (SR)
Quiz Night 8pm (FR) Frieze Art Fair
Ghost Town 7pm (SR) Frieze Art Fair
Wall-E 2pm (SR) Easy Virtue 7pm (SR) Frieze Art Fair
Brideshead Revisited 7pm (SR)
House Bunny 2pm (SR) Live 7pm (SR)
Summer 7pm (SR)
Drinks Tasting 7pm (FR)
Creative Capital 7pm (GR) Eagle Eye 9pm (SR)
Midnight Meat Train 7pm (SR) Blithe Spirit 9pm (SR)
Book Club 7pm (RR) They Live 7pm (SR)
Gnaw 9pm (SR)
Hush 9pm (SR)
Mum & Dad 9pm (SR)
High School Musical 2pm (SR) Autopsy 7pm (SR)
Quarantine 7pm (SR)
High School Musical 2pm (SR) Burn After Reading 7pm (SR)
Body of Lies 7pm (SR) Birthday Party 7.30pm
Madagascar: Escape to Africa 2pm (SR) Hamlet II 7pm (SR)
Burn After Reading 7pm (SR) Back to Ours 7.30pm (ML)
High School Musical 2pm (SR) Incendiary 7pm (SR)
Writing Salon 7pm (RR) W. 7pm (SR)
Supper Club 7pm (FR) Blindness 9pm (SR)
American Teen 7pm (SR)
Poker Night 7pm (FR) Bader Meinhoff 9pm (SR)
Waltz With Bashir 7pm (SR)
Quiz Night 8pm (FR) The Rocker 9m (SR)
Patti Smith 7pm (SR)
Book Club 7pm (RR)
Cooking Masterclass 7pm (RR) Max Payne 9pm (SR)
Drinks Tasting 7pm (FR)
Lakeview Terrace 7pm (SR)
Madagascar: Escape to Africa 2pm (SR) Hunger 7pm (SR)
Choke 7pm (SR)
IGOR 7pm (SR) Quantum of Solace 7pm (SR) Cabaret 7.30 (TV)
Che: The Argentine 7pm (SR)
Madagascar: Escape to Africa 2pm (SR) Changeling 7pm (SR)
Writing Salon 7pm (RR) Religulous 7pm (SR)
Transporter III 9pm (SR)
Gonzo: The Life & Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson 7pm (SR)
10 Poker Night 7pm (FR) Quantum of Solace 9pm (SR)
Film Vault: It’s a Wonderful Life 7pm (SR)
Book Club 7pm (RR)
Yes Man 9pm (SR)
Quiz Night 8pm (FR)
Quantum of Solace 7pm (SR)
Madagascar: Escape to Africa 2pm (SR) The Road 7pm (SR)
The Day Earth Stood Still 7pm (SR)
Members Event Pre-Release Screening Screening Children’s Screening
31 CLUB CLOSED
(SR) Screening Room (TV) Studio (ML) Martini Lounge (FR) Forest Room (GR) Games Room (BB) Bellini Bar (G) Gallery (CR) Club Restaurant (RR) Rocket Room
Members’ events and screenings are released for booking on the 20th of the preceding month. Free Admission. To book call 020 7170 9303 or visit www.thehospitalclub.com If you book and have to cancel please let club reception know so that another member can have your place. 33
THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAIL Christmas dos by The Hospital Club. A bit like snowflakes, really. Unique, individual and (once you get to the bar) nice and wet too. Beat-boxing carol singers might be your thing. Maybe an intimate gathering for your favourite little helpers. Possibly a heaving baroque banquet for hundreds. For us, it’s all par for the Christmas course. We’d rather talk Rudolph Valentino than Rudolph the Reindeer. And it’s always superheroes over mistletoe. Just throw us couple of curveballs (or snowballs) and we can get started. To discuss an extraordinary xmas bash, call or drop a line to Rani on the details below.
THE HOSPITAL CLUB email@example.com +44 (0)20 7170 9100