The Saatchi Factor:

The School of Saatchi, BBC 2

Tracey Emin, Kate Bush, Frank Cohen and Matthew Collings star in Charles Saatchi ‘s latest media farce: a mediocre talent show hailing the death of imagination.

Twelve young hopefuls. Four expert judges. One life-transforming prize. There can, of course, be only one winner.

I’ve just sat through The School of Saatchi, the second programme in a series of three promising to find the next big thing in the modern art world. The winner will win the use of a London studio for the next three years and, more importantly, the Charles 'Midas' Saatchi stamp of approval.

Anyone hoping for a chance to catch a glimpse under the suit, as it were, of the ever-elusive Charlie S. will have been disappointed. From the start we are told (by Come Dine With Me sound-alike narrator, Hugh Bonneville, just in case we failed to notice the talent show framework) that the famously reclusive Charles Saatchi won’t be appearing on his own programme. On the plus side, we are treated to the same black and white studio photo of the man about six or seven times throughout. Thanks.

So the School of Saatchi is missing its headmaster. But luckily there are four teachers on lunch break duty to make sure nothing too exciting happens: First up is critic Matthew Collings – a smiley Sir Alan Sugar, if you will – on hand to give the Desperate Dans some momentarily interesting 30 second art history lessons. Alongside him is Kate Bush. No, sorry, you’re thinking of a different Kate Bush. No, this Kate Bush wears all black and stands in shadows. But, art collector Frank Cohen, “the Saatchi of the North” (but still, no Saatchi), provides some colour to the palette (he has the reddest face I have ever seen) but says next to nothing for almost the whole hour.

And lastly, but by no means most talented, is racey Tracey Emin, playing the maverick supply teacher whose “I think that’s a load of bollocks” is the first of her many eloquent contributions. Where’s a flashing neon sign when you need it, eh Trace? She also doubles up as the consciously provocative, dismissive, Cowel-esque Scrooge of the panel, just in case viewers start to suspect that what they are watching is not reality TV and decide to flick over to I’m A Celebrity... on ITV.

The truth is that, annoyingly, the artwork on show is itself given only a few precious moments in the spotlight. When we are treated to some of it, however, you begin to see why: it’s boring as hell. An art student who has stolen a road sign stand (minus the sign itself, presumably struggling with both as she made a quick midnight getaway, pissed off her tits, back to her Shoreditch flat) is, for Tracey, “unpretentious”. The one contestant that isn’t asked “why is it art?” by the judges is the one contestant who most urgently needs to think long and hard about an answer.

Instead, the panel reserve the annoying question for those whose talent is more obvious. If we are to take these four industry professionals as an accurate reflection of modern institutional art, then what this confirms is modern British art’s occupation with (for better or for worse) the need to justify itself. Emin’s congratulation at one student’s “good explanation” of her work sums this up neatly.

Talking of Tracey Emin's (in)famous Unmade Bed, Matthew Collings muses that “maybe there are rules, but the audience don’t quite know what they are.” Is it the case, then, that modern art is a modern con played against a unknowing audience?

“Charles really liked it. Charles thinks it would’ve been more interesting if...” is what Saatchi’s PA ventriloquises in his absense when the time comes for his verdict and the shortlisting of six finalists. Tune in next week, when the six young finalists reach the emerald city of Oz, only to find that Charles Saatchi is a big rubber Ron Mueck mask with Nigella Lawson working at the helm.

Incoming: interview with the Coen brother

(Fargo, No Country For Old Men, O Brother Where Art Thou, Burn After Reading, The Big Lebowski).

LIFF: The Men Who Stare At Goats

After finally been allowed in by the nervous box office assistant (“I can’t let you in until the clock says five to. I’m sorry...”) and squeezing my way into the packed, beautifully-restored Town Hall, the dimming of the lights ushered in a tangible excitement at this, the opening film of Leeds' International Film Festival 2009.

But sadly, The Men Who Stare At Goats fails to come close to meeting the (by now) very high expectations of the audience: with a fantastically original – and alarmingly factual – premise, George Clooney, Ewan McGregor, Jeff Bridges, and Kevin Spacey, under the direction of Grant Heslov, had a potentially winning film on their hands. They do well to keep it lightly entertaining for (almost) the full ninety minutes, but the lack of narrative drive leaves them up against a tough one.

Jon Ronson’s original non-fiction paperback is a scoop of a story - a treasure trove of journalistic opportunity - which saw the writer/documentary maker stumbling across a ‘special’ US Army unit of ‘special’ psychological warriors, soldiers trained in the New Age-inspired ways of Jedi-warfare. A bizarre chance meeting soon leads Ronson to discover a much darker side of the Iraq war: ‘Barney the Dinosaur’ theme tune torture is just the tip of the ice-berg.

But Ewan McGregor’s fictionalised counterpart refuses to dive deeper below the surface of this potentially fascinating story. Almost no time is given over to looking at how this peace-loving ‘60s ethos spawned some of the most contrived. Yes, George Clooney’s character is one of many that become disillusioned, but what about disillusionment of the Iraqis and their 'liberated' country? The acting is funny, and often hilarious, while the characters themselves are just about likeable, meaning this film remains an enjoyable slap-stick comedy but, disappointingly, nothing more.

Films dealing with the latest Gulf War have done infamously bad in cinemas; it’s just such a shame that The Men Who Stare At Goats wasn’t prepared to tackle the subject head on.


A generous 3/5.

BIRDWATCHING: Simon Bird interview

This coming Monday, Simon Bird brings his latest project, an ‘experimental game show’, to Leeds. When I’m due to speak to him early on a Freshers’ Week morning, it is with an expected politeness that he answers the phone. His is also the, by now, highly recognisable voice of The Inbetweeners’s Will McKenzie, the ‘at least I’m not’ person of thousands upon thousands of Britain’s post-pubescent males: however excruciatingly ungraceful our journey from puny infantile to (slightly-less-puny) twentysomething, thank God it was never quite that bad.

It is encouraging, then, to know that even Simon’s own teen years were “hampered by the overwhelming sense of failure at all times. You know, when it comes to women and to alcohol and popularity and all those sorts of things.”

Like Will’s?

“I don’t know whether it was quite as exciting or outrageous as some of the escapades and adventures that Will and the boys get into. But yeah, I think, like the boys, you make your own fun.”

Nevertheless, The Inbetweeners remains uncomfortably realistic and well-observed. Watching any episode, it’s easy to become convinced that you too went to the very same doomed house-party, or ill-fated school trip. I ask if this is the key to The Inbetweeners’s success.

“Oh yes. I think that is definitely why people like it – because they can relate to it. And I think that’s down to the script and the writers. They had a very clear idea of what they wanted to do, and it was an original idea that nobody had really tried on British TV. I think that’s why people like it.”

Does Simon think that The Inbetweeners’s concept would translate well into a university setting?

“I’m not sure whether The Inbetweeners is the right show to do it necessarily, just because it’s a bit of stretch to think that Jay and Neil would end up pertaining a place of study with Will.” He pauses. “Or even leave home necessarily.”

It was at the University of Cambridge that Simon began performing as part of The Footlights, the university’s famed comedy revue group responsible for kick-starting the careers of Mitchell and Webb, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie, The Monty Pythons, and countless other comedy giants.

“I think the set up of comedy in Cambridge is really good. They have a very set way of doing it. They have a stand-up show every two weeks and do really well in encouraging people to give it a go. I think that’s why Cambridge has done so well at producing comedians.”

I ask him if he has received any particularly useful advice about breaking into comedy. After a silence, he admits: “No earth-shattering advice, other than I think it’s good to find like-minded people. If it’s not just you trying to do it all by yourself, it feels less scary. I think Leeds has a comedy group, doesn’t it?” He’s referring to The Leeds Tealights, the University of Leeds’ own take on the student comedy revue. “I’d recommend looking into that and trying to find other people that are in your situation. Because it’s so much easier and so much more fun to try stuff out and to experiment.”

Sound advice. Simon has come a remarkably long way since his Cambridge days. I’m interested to hear what he’ll be bringing to Leeds.

“It’s called ‘Simon Bird presents An Experimental Game Show’. It’s me trying out some ideas for a potential TV game show, in a similar style to Shooting Stars. It’s quite silly.” A chance to loosen up a little and leave Will in the classroom, then. “Hopefully it will be funny,” he adds, perhaps betraying a few nerves. “It’ll have a lot of audience interaction. It’s quite a good night for people who are a little bit drunk. It’s got that sort of anarchic feeling” – I can hear Will’s apprehension creeping in – “so hopefully it’ll go down well.” I’m certain it will.

Having just mentioned Shooting Stars, I ask Simon which other shows and comedians have influenced him so far. He acknowledges that his brand of comedy is “quite realistic and low key a lot of the time” describing it as “quite quiet and gentle. I think the bigger influence I’ve grown up with is The Office, because that came out while I was in 6th form. But there are lots of shows around that I love, like the Peep Show. And I’ve been watching a lot of [US Fox sitcom] Arrested Development, which I highly recommend to anyone who hasn’t seen it. It is brilliant. All my favourite shows are sitcoms. It would be a dream to write a classic.”

Watch this space. Now that Simon has reached celebrity status, I’m curious: has he got round to trashing any hotel rooms yet?

“Not yet” is his sincere reply. “I’m in one at the moment actually. I think the thing is that people who trash hotel rooms do it in really nice hotels that can actually be trashed. Here, they’ve done quite a good job themselves.”

'Simon Bird Presents An Experimental Game Show', coming live to a union near you.

Il Divo (better than Simon Cowell's...)

In Paolo Sorrentino’s Il Divo, a profile of long serving Italian Prime minister Giulio Andreotti who enjoyed close ties with both the Vatican and Italy’s criminal underworld, the director relishes combining gangster flick elements with a strong literary history that portrays Italy's institutions (political and religious) in a less than favourable light, working with the premise of Italy as a hotbed of vice. Government, church and private ambition are tangled up in what is a chillingly smooth and stylised, modern day Machiavellian crime thriller.

When the decision has clearly been made to entertain us with something of a caricature of Andreotti and his men, however, it is confusing that in the opening slides we are made to read several paragraphs of Italian history, a who’s who of political factions. The glossary excerpts prepare us for an academic critique rather than the historical drama that eventually follows. As such, the details are largely irrelevant and confusing.

But when the drama does come, it is deliciously creepy. Beautifully haunting set-pieces stay with you long after the film has finished: the image of the unflinching and docile Andreotti undergoing acupuncture to ease his migraines (his head a crown of pins) is one example, as is the running shot of Andreotti emotionlessly pacing through Rome’s empty night time streets surrounded by armed police escort, back stiff, nerves unwavering. Toni Servillo, who plays the Italian Prime Minister, does fantastically to convey such a sinister persona without so much as moving an eyebrow. His character, for all the film’s caricaturing, is filled with all the ambiguities of a powerful man losing his grip.




On top of some brilliant acting, the film as a whole looks good too. Attention to the details of the period (notably the suits, the decadence and the social order) does not falter, while the cinematography exhausts every opportunity for some dazzling camerawork, depicting events which are cool and calm one moment and then furiously unravelling the next through a range of different shots. Equally, the soundtrack manages to flit disorientatingly from melodic classical symphonies to ruthless industrial guitars in an incongruous mix that wouldn’t appear out of place in a Tarantino film. One of my only negative comments would be that, being such a self-consciously sleek film, Il Divo seems slightly too contrived at times. This said, the smile that creeps cross your face at the brutal ridiculousness of it all tells you that this too is one of the joys of watching the film.

It's just a shame that such a fantastic film shares it's name with those four cocks that Simon Cowel desses up in suits...