What The Folk? bring you an afternoon of acoustic music at Bradford Baked Zines:
13 Market Street, Saturday 18th May, 4.30pm - 7pm
from:
Betsy and the Writer
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Betsy-the-Writer/610216349004894?fref=ts
Tess Connor-Kavanagh
https://www.facebook.com/tessck?fref=ts
Jack Winn
http://winn.bandcamp.com/album/trying
and Calvin Jarvis
A trip to The Alhambra is always special. Walking across Bradford on a cold night, the darkness of Hall Ings and The Tyrells gives way to the bright splendour of warm, welcoming glass and joyous, illuminated domes. A visit to The Alhambra takes you back to a time when Bradford’s and Britain’s fortunes were as bountiful and as luminescent as the theatre’s facade; it swells the heart and the mere act of walking to The Alhambra gives you a spring in your step and a expectant smile on your face. This coerced voyage dans le temps was simply perfect, as it usually is, for ‘The Woman in Black’.
I’d watched, and enjoyed, the recent film wherein Harry Potter bounded about the north country being chased by the spectre in widow’s weaves. I’d enjoyed it but hadn’t loved it. At the time, I’d asked, knowing that it was a play, how on earth such a tale could be told on stage. The performance answered me; with laughter and gasps, amusement and fear, engrossment and terror, it answered me.
(Some spoilers follow – please scroll down to next brackets)
We sat and, immediately, just how the tale which spanned England and a number of locations, including several moving trains, traps and trips across the sea, could be told was revealed. The playwright’s (Stephen Mallatratt) conceit is that this is a story retold, with Arthur Kipps’ tale of terror, which has haunted him for decades, is to be exorcised in the telling. The actor, who advises him on how to share his story, begins with directions on how to captivate an audience before turning the dry, wordy epic into a short, snappy and engaging play. Kipps’ incredulity as to how such a story could be told on stage echoed mine, and was rebuffed with an excellent speech on how they, as actors, should believe they were travelling across country, drinking in busy pubs and walking through eerie graveyards; and how we, the audience, should also believe; and, if we all pretend we believe, so it shall be.
And so, The Actor played Kipps as a young man, sent to the north to tidy up the business affairs of a recently deceased widow, who encounters the most awful, fearful chilling apparition, a ghost which haunts him as it haunted the townsfolk, which followed him as it followed death, and from which he desperately tries escape for 40 years or more. Kipps, his initial inability to speak clearly, never mind act, is soon overcome and he takes on the role of every other character in the play… bar one.
The story unfolds with the characters: Kipps’ tale develops with his acting abilities and The Actor’s submerging into the role of Kipps. The audience, it seemed, believed every bit as much as they did, and we were swept along with them: swept north; swept into town; swept across the causeway; and swept into… that room, that room, where fear and hate and horror live on.
(End of most spoilers – small sections may refer to minor parts of the plot but I won’t give them game away)
I loved this play. I loved it.
The front of stage, spartan barring a theatrical relic here and a clothes rail there, was perfect, allowing our imaginations free reign, just as was asked, to devise and create the scenes of which we were told. But behind the curtain, which could be aptly called a safety curtain, terror reigned, horror lurked and something vile lived and loathed – never quite close enough to touch, but often near enough to hear and see and terrify us.
Anthony Eden (The Actor) was great. He, in juxtaposition to Kipps’ theatrical reluctance, was the epitome of what we expect the actor types to be: head shaking, overt diction, hands flying from side to side and floor to ceiling. But, as the play unfolded, he became, quickly, the young Kipps: an excitable lad driven by youthful exuberance, utterly the opposite of the Kipps to whom we are first introduced, demonstrating the ravages the years of bottling up his told have taken. I felt his excitement; I felt his fear; I felt his terror.
Arthur Kipps’ part was played superbly by Julian Forsyth. An old man, desperate to rid himself of a ghost which has haunted him for years, finally plucks up the courage to write his story and ready himself to tell it. Reluctantly, he takes The Actor’s advice, little by little, before, suddenly and wonderfully, he transforms: from Arthur Kipps reading some lines into an actor, a fine actor, who plays a myriad of roles in taking us from the theatre to the country, from Bradford to the sea, from a packed house to an abandoned mansion, and from a comfy chair to abject terror.
At the start of Woman in Black, you’ll laugh, you really will. The actors drag you into their world and the playwright’s use of dramatic irony and clever, enchanting language sucks you in immediately. You’ll laugh. Then, as the play proceeds, you’ll laugh less; the mood will darken; after the first time you’ve jumped out of your seat, gasped loudly, gripped the arm rest (or your wife), tensed every muscle in your body, you might laugh again… a nervous laugh; a mocking laugh; a laugh that tells you you’ve not been made to jump like that for a long, long time, and probably never before in a theatre. The next jump elicits a scream or a whimper from some… and the laugh is a titter, a seepage of relief that it wasn’t you.
And then you don’t laugh anymore.
You sit, gripped, apprehensive, terrified, as she becomes clearer, her figure becomes clearer, he motives and malevolence becomes clearer… until she is upon you. You don’t laugh, you just hope: hope he doesn’t open that door; hope he doesn’t search for the source of that sound; hope the telling will lay her ghost to rest.
And then, relieved, drained, thoroughly entertained, you’re back out on the streets of Bradford, back in 21st Century, back in the comfort of the mortal world you know… and yet she’s come with you, just for a bit, a follows you along Quebec St, up Morley Street, just behind you or just ahead, hidden in the shadows, masked by darkness, shrouded by the night.
But then you get to Cyrus Mediterranean Restaurant, where they don’t allow spooks or spectres, and you can enjoy dissecting the play as you dissect some wonderful Greek grub over a Mythos or three. It was the first time I’d been and it’ll definitely be my choice for the next post-theatre suppers we enjoy.
Here's a quick announcement for a new Bradford-based sketch night I am running. I'd be ever so delighted if you would read it, pass it on and attend. Wouldn't that be nice? Thank you.
Jolly Mixtures is a night of brand new sketch, character and musical comedy.
Starring: Rob Gilroy, Amy Gledhill, Graham Oakes and Nicola Redman.
Do you like laughing?
Are you a member of black squadron? Do you regularly shout out for Stephen in the hope that somebody somewhere will shout 'just coming' back in your direction? Do you watch music videos with an eagle eye for bloopers and subversive happenings? Do you long to slap the double bass like a rhythm king? Or are you prone to a spot of nostalgia at hearing the first strains of Pearl and Dean?
I went to see the wonderful ‘This Sporting Life’ at Bradford Cathedral, part of Bradford City of Film and Cine Yorkshire’s community cinema programme which will see cinema pop up in Keighley, Ben Rhydding and elsewhere across the district and city.
The night was cold, with an icy northerly wind blowing, but that only added to the atmosphere, enhancing the gritty, northern film.
Afterwards, there was a Q&A session with former Bradford and Great Britain player and coach, and current TV and radio pundit, Brian Noble.
Please read my full review over on Culture Vultures.
The National Media Museum in the heart of Bradford City Centre celebrates its thirtieth anniversary in 2013. Boasting over 3.5 million items in its collection, and with several thousand more bequeathed to the museum by the BBC recently, it is unrivalled in its significance to archive television, film and photography.
It is well worth planning your visit beforehand to take into account the galleries and wealth of exhibits potentially on offer.
I went to another fabulous photo exhibition at the Impressions Gallery today. The exhibition was to celebrate 40 years of the Impressions Gallery and was featuring photographs from their archive collection. All the images were part of an exhibit originally put on in 1984 when 5 students photographers were asked to produce a collection of photographs based on George Orwell's book of the same name as the exhibition.
Video, when made well, can be very good at engaging students in a subject and explaining concepts quickly and informatively. However, the realism of standard video can be a little dry and unsuitable for demonstrating how processes work. This is where animation can be invaluable: due to it’s artistic style and character it can be immensely engaging to watch and can be very effective at explaining concepts using simplified or abstract images, moving on the screen.
Music, acrobats, trapeze artists and death-defying stunts, all played out 200ft in the air… exactly the outlandish, outrageous performances we’ve come to expect in Bradford’s wonderful City Park. I knew this year’s Christmas lights Switch-On would be quite a show but, my word, I was left aghast, amazed and awestruck by Trans Express and the wonders they performed.
We joined the thousands already gathered just in time to hear a couple of songs belted out by a children’s choir who warmed the throng before Bradford Festival Choral Society got us all well into a yuletide mood with a wonderful repertoire of Christmas classics.
Then, suddenly, sprites, burning torches help aloft, whooped and hollered 
their way through the crowd, climbing on to small stages around City Park, lighting up beacons and faces as they went.
The sprites were supplanted by mythical jesters, their dress as garish as their make-up. They rang bells, raised smiles, chorused “Vive la Revolution” and pretended to burn their bums (much to the amusement of, well, me).
They swapped, they changed then they disappeared and they strapped themselves into the huge chandelier which dominated the centre of the City Park. The sprites shimmied up the ropes until they were 30ft from the floor.
and then they rose…
200ft in the air, their music began. A bell, a drum, a ping, a bong… and from it, a song emerged. And then the chandelier began to spin. The jesters span round and round, playing their instruments as Bradford gazed up in wonder.
The chandelier slowed and stopped and the sprites cast off their black robes, reminding us all just how far it
would be to fall. The jesters’ song struck up and the sprites took it in turns to perform. In the night sky, they danced and span and weaved and swung, thrilling the throng beneath, generating applause after applause, and audible gasps at the most terrifying tricks.
The finale gave more joy to the crowd as the night sky was lit up with fireworks over City Hall and Centenary Square to the tune of Christmas hits.
We walked away smiling, chattering about what we’d witnessed, so happy to have seen such a spectacle, so proud to be Bradfordians, and so pleased that our city puts on shows so glorious, so wonderful, so breath-taking.
The photos above are courtesy of City Park’s Facebook page and are copyright Bradford MDC (please approach and ask them before reusing – I did and they’re friendly and helpful); the ones below are mine. Please feel free to use those below. You can also see and use some of my videos (short and sweet) – find them at http://www.youtube.com/user/jatkinson1977
I never thought I'd say this but, I'm really looking forward the Christmas Lights Switch-On in Bradford on November 17th.
Suffice to say, it's at my new favourite place, City Park, and I know they know how to put on a show.
Take a look at the photos below from the artists' previous events, then please give my latest piece for Culture Vultures…
