Luxury's Disappointments

All Images: Central Birmingham, March 2016

These three images were collected close together, the other day - just outside Birmingham's 'exclusive' Mailbox shopping centre, (let's call a spade a spade).  In one way or another, they seem to point towards the priorities of a society fixated on the notion of 'luxury'.  They also tap into my uber-anoraky interest in urban parking provision.

I guess the first would make the point more eloquently if that were a newer, properly top-of-the-range Merc, but it still seems to suggest how, with ever louder exhortations to 'aspire', - directed at a population increasingly divided between 'haves' and 'have-nots', some will always grab their taste of the high-life in whatever opportunist manner they can.

That car can only have been joy-ridden, can't it? The jaunty angle at which it has been 'parked' in one of the city centre's most heavily regulated parking zones surely speaks volumes.  I also love the wonky tilt of the status-symbol bonnet mascot.  Has someone tried to pry it off - do you think?  What really delights me is the way the slow, heavy-handed response of officialdom appears be to simply impose one parking fine after another.  If only as much diligence were applied to analysing the societal tensions and priorities that may have contributed to the situation in the first place, - or even to just towing it away after a couple of days.  Who's ultimately liable to pay those fines, I wonder?

In my fantasy, I'd like to think the (possibly, shop-lifted) champagne packaging was discarded by the departing joy-riders, (it was very near the car), - although the two events are probably unrelated in reality.

Either way, it seems to suggest something of the decadence, deluded appeal, and race for instant gratification of the 'Champagne Lifestyle'.  When sipped on a special occasion, a glass of bubbly is, of course, one of life's great pleasures, (a Champaign Socialist?, - me?).  When glugged by the bottle-full, and the box - discarded in the street to become part of the general mulch of detritus, it seems to suggest something rather different.

Right, I'm off to put on my hair shirt, eat a bowl of gruel, and find an improving pamphlet to read...

Stephen Knight: 'Locke'

I finally got round to watching Director, Stephen Knight’s movie, ‘Locke’ [1.], the other day.  I was reminded of the film by Shaun Morris’ blog mention to it, a few weeks back, - recalling that it was one of those that fell through my net when on limited cinematic release in 2014.  For a while I kept forgetting the title too, - in another of those disquieting indications of advancing middle age.  Anyway, whilst buying milk and potatoes in Sainsbury’s recently [2.], - there it was on DVD, and at a price that it would have been rude to ignore.  It turned out to be a right bargain.

Still From: Stephen Knight (Dir.), ' Locke', Shoebox Films/I M Global, 2013/14

Like another recent favourite from last year, ‘Under the Skin’ [3.], ‘Locke’ is a low budget/high impact example of how many of the best film makers are squeezing really interesting results out of pretty economical means these days.  Like that film, it also features a very strong central performance from a relatively mainstream actor, (in this case, Tom Hardy as the eponymous Ivan Locke), working under somewhat experimental conditions.

Still From: Jonathan Glazer (Dir.), 'Under The Skin', Film4/BFI, 2013/14

In ‘UTS’, some of the most intriguing scenes were those in which Scarlett Johansson’s emotionally blank alien prowled the streets of Glasgow in an anonymous white van, as reflected lights and glimpses of the outside world played across the windows of her enclosed cab like a film within a film.  ‘Locke’ takes that to even more symphonic visual extremes; becoming an elegy to the unceasing, hypnotic parade of vehicle lights we’ve all experienced while travelling in cars after dark.  The vaguely Post-Rock atmospherics of Dikon Hinchliffe’s score also contribute admirably to that mesmeric world [4.].  However, whilst Scarlett eventually got to walk about and interact with others, (however haltingly), in an alien landscape beyond her vehicle, Hardy spends the entirety of this film behind the wheel, on a single, solo, motorway drive.  His only interaction with a small cast of additional characters, (and the only way that the plot can therefore advance), is via a constant stream of phone calls, and those few occasions when he talks out loud to himself or to his imagined father.

At this point, a little exposition is probably necessary.  We first encounter Ivan Locke as he gets into his car at a massive construction site in the West Midlands.  He is, we learn, a highly accomplished concrete specialist, respected for his dependability, and a solidity of character matched only by the materials he works with.  As the story gradually unfolds through his numerous phone calls, we also learn he enjoys a stable family life with two adoring sons and a devoted wife.  He commences his journey on the eve of “the largest concrete pour in Europe, outside of the nuclear or military industries”, (a PR phrase he repeats throughout the film with increasing resignation, like a mantra of jeopardy).  He should be on his way home for an enjoyable family evening watching football on TV and an early night.

Still From: Stephen Knight (Dir.), 'Locke', Shoebox Films/I M Global, 2013/14

Instead, Locke sets off to drive to London in order, it transpires, to attend the premature birth of a child he has fathered as the result of an uncharacteristic, brief liaison with an emotionally fragile woman he hardly knows.  This single act, based on his unshakable need to subsequently ‘do the right thing’, stems from a deeply held resentment towards his own absent and unreliable father.  It also triggers a train of events in which the certainties of career and marriage unravel over the phone as he drives on through the night.  Relieved of his official post, he still attempts to fire fights the several crises besetting the preparations for the concrete pour remotely, (via an increasingly panicky subordinate).  Simultaneously, he fields calls from, amongst others, his wife, his sons, his superior, medical staff, and the terrified mother-to-be waiting at the end of his journey.  The film ends as he nears his destination, having, in two hours, seemingly lost everything, “apart from myself and the car I’m in”.

If, as I’ve seen it billed, ‘Locke’ is a thriller, it is purely one of an implied or psychological variety.  Relatively little actually happens on screen, (in terms of action, - loads happens in other respects), yet the events overtaking the subject are life changing and existential in nature.  By limiting the main character’s arena to a few cubic feet of enclosed interior space, events can only be internalised by him, and his psychology be thus laid bare.  I’m tempted to make connections with Joel Schumacher’s thriller, ‘Phone Booth’ [5.], in which a flawed protagonist is forced to confront his own actions behind glass and over the phone, with a sniper who has him pinned down in a telephone kiosk.

Still From: Joel Schumacher (Dir.), 'Phone Booth', Zucher/Netter Productions, 2002

Naturally, the success of a character study such as this hangs on the lead performance.  I know very little about Tom Hardy, other than that his previous work appears to have been in fairly mainstream blockbusters.  It’s all the more impressive then that his work here is so controlled and focused.  His Ivan Locke is a man clearly used to dealing with the world with unflappable logic, and a hitherto unshakable belief that everything can be put right through determination and perseverance.  He is a man, as his wife puts it, whose very footprints turn to stone.  The certainties on which he has attempted to base his life are paralleled by the need to create the most stable concrete foundation possible for the tower that’s being built. 

Certainly, there’s nowhere for Hardy to hide, as his face necessarily fills much of the frame for the vast majority of the film.  He proves adept at conveying the growing sense of exasperation overtaking Locke in admirably subtle ways.  Even when he does let loose, it’s to himself, and he repeatedly tries to reset himself to his rational, softly spoken default state before fielding the next disquieting piece of information.  Even as he is forced to admit he may even be going a little mad, the impression is that this is just another issue that will have to be dealt with.  Some actors might attempt to convey all this with increasing levels of cartoonish derangement but Hardy communicates it mainly through subtle changes in facial tension or vocal intonation, and the occasional momentarily frustrated slump over the steering wheel.  Such anger as may be building within him, appears mostly blanketed by bemused stoicism.

Still From: Stephen Knight (Dir.), 'Locke', Shoebox Films/I M Global, 2013/14

‘Locke’ subjects its protagonist to considerable existential/psychic travail, but it’s striking how this plays out within completely technological contexts.  It’s a distinctly First World fable.  Ivan Locke’s life may be unraveling, but it does so from the comfort of his BMW’s leather upholstery, and via its integrated, hands-free communication system.  It’s a reminder of how even the scariest parts of our lives are often insulated from the outside world or mediated through channels.  The downside is, as so many now find, that he must be constantly available to others, and is required to deal with multiple situations both simultaneously and remotely.  The point he appears most lost, but also, most cut free potentially, is that at which he just lets his phone ring.

Still From: Stephen Knight (Dir.), 'Locke', Shoebox Films/I M Global, 2013/14

Essentially, Locke’s real problem is that, as a consequence of his own actions, everyone now wants a piece of him.  Forced to prioritise, - he’s unable to square the circle of keeping everyone happy, and the price he must pay for abiding by his own code of personal ethics becomes massive indeed.  Only as he starts to doubt his own sanity do we glimpse the cracks in his personality.  His strange personification of “The Concrete”, the suggestions of the hubris often attributed to builders of towers, and the accusations leveled at the father he imagines in the rear-view mirror, all point to that code being as much based on psychological fallibility as on nobility or calm reason.  Perhaps it’s a singularly male tragedy that those destined to suffer most, (himself apart), are those closest to him.

I suppose, given my own current enthusiasms for concrete and driving at night, and a general taste for a little psychology with my drama, it was inevitable I’d be drawn to ‘Locke’.  It stands up as quality gear in its own right though, and I’d recommend it to anyone who doesn’t require every film they see to be populated by superheroes and Hobbits, or to mostly resemble a computer game.  It’s up there with a handful of movies I’ve seen over the last couple of years, all of which manage to be intriguing and pleasingly experimental, without becoming completely elitist in their avant-garde affectations.  Like ‘Under The Skin’, ‘A Field In England’ [6.], and ‘The Double’ [7.], amongst others, it also proves that the most satisfying and thought-provoking cinema is often now made without an extravagant budget or overwhelming digital trickery.

[1.]:  Stephen Knight (Dir.), ‘Locke’, Shoebox Films/IM Global, UK, 2013/14

[2.]:  Should I be concerned by how often routine trips to the supermarket feel worthy of comment on this blog just lately?  Are my horizons too narrow?  Am I spending far too long in these vacuous places?  (Dunno, - Possibly, - Yes).

[3.]:  Jonathan Glazer (Dir.), ‘Under The Skin’, Film 4/BFI, UK, 2013/14

[4.]:  Albeit not quite as experimentally as Mica Levi’s much vaunted ‘Under The skin’ score.

[5.]:  Joel Schumacher (Dir.), ‘Phone Booth’, Zucker/Netter Productions, USA 2002

[6.]:  Ben Wheatley (Dir.), ‘A Field In England’, Rook Films, UK, 2013

[7.]:  Richard Ayoade (Dir.), ‘The Double’, Alcove Entertainment/Film4/BFI, UK, 2013/14

…The Nut Behind The Wheel

After I wrote about the film making of Chris Petit, in connection with my own tentative experiments with shooting video from a moving car, I started to think a bit about how different means of transport affect our perceptions of the environments we traverse.

Burleys Flyover, Belgrave Gate, Leicester, December 2013

I’ve already discussed the advantages of cycling for those who wish to carry out urban observations, dérives, or just getting out there and collecting visual material, as an alternative to the psychogeographer’s traditional default of a good long walk.  It remains the nearest thing we have to the environmental immersion afforded by walking, (or running I guess, - but that seems to have a more directed agenda), and an obvious way of preserving the relationship between physical body and surroundings.  However, for now, I’m thinking about the far more mediated ways that car journeys affect our perceptions and, in particular, the relationship between them and film (or video), typically highlighted in Petit’s work.

Still From: 'Radio On', Chris Petit (Dir.), 1979

Most drivers, or indeed car passengers, take for granted the sense of being insulated from their surroundings in a protective capsule of metal, plastic, rubber and glass.  Indeed, car manufacturers and automotive proselytisers make a point of stressing the Clarksonian cliché of a car’s interior as ‘a nice place to be’ [1.].  To travel in a car is thus, inevitably, to experience a heavily mediated visual world.  It often seems that the ‘better’ the car, the more involving the interior becomes, (mood lighting, information screens, entertainment centres, massage seating, etc).  Often, in extreme high performance cars, the rear view is completely sacrificed and any side view severely compromised whilst vast expanses of windscreen emphasise the road ahead.  If only through the ludicrous velocities they can achieve, such vehicles seem to direct the occupants’ attention, (and particularly the driver’s, of course), to some point on the far horizon that might be reached with as little reference to the intervening terrain as possible.

Supermarket Car Park, Belgrave Road, Leicester, December 2013

In the majority of workaday vehicles however, there is a more interesting balance between the dual perceptions of interior and exterior space and the way the first edits the second.  The landscape becomes sectioned into the portions visible through the vehicle’s windows; framed by bodywork; filtered by tinted glass, condensation, raindrops, frost and grimy wipers traces.  In both ‘London Orbital’ [2.] and ‘Radio On’ [3.] Chris Petit allows these elements to intrude into his framed image.  In the latter, this not only draws our attention to the idea of any car but also to the cultural signifiers pertaining to a particular car.

Still From: 'Radio On', Chris Petit (Dir.), 1979

If the film could be seen as a poem to the stalled state of Post-War Britain just prior to the massive upheavals of Thatcherism and the dubious landscape we now inhabit, the choice of R’s old Rover seems masterful.  The wood, chrome, leather and iconic badging of that car’s interior speak volumes about an older, more comforting past and Petit allows his camera to linger on the huge steering wheel and the dash, from which R’s all important music and news bulletins emerge.  Thus, not only is his view of Britain around the A4 physically cropped, but contextually framed too, by the vehicle he occupies.  When the tired, heavy old car stalls and is abandoned on the quarry’s edge, with no way forward or back, at the end of the film, he is forced to seek a completely different means to exit, (on a soon to be privatised train).

Richard Smithson, 1969

Thinking about this reminded me of a piece by the American Conceptual Land Artist, Robert Smithson, that I referred to some time ago but which seems worth quoting again.  Although clearly separate from the Continental European and British traditions, Smithson’s documentations of early visits to New Jersey are clearly psychogeographic in intent.  ‘The Crystal Land’ [4.], whilst ostensibly an account of a geological field trip, captures Smithson’s subjective relationship to his surroundings through multiple gear-changes in viewpoint and literary style.  Particularly effective, is the passage in which he relates the macrocosmic environment of the great outdoors, the crystalline structures he seeks within it, and it’s formation through geological time, to the microcosmic environment of the vehicle occupied by his party.

"My eyes glanced over the dashboard, it became a complex of chrome fixed into an embankment of steel.  A glass disc covered the clock.  The speedometer was broken.  Cigarettes were packed into the ashtray.  Faint reflections slid over the windshield.  Out of sight in the glove compartment was a silver flashlight and an Esso map of Vermont.  Under the radio dial (55-7-9-11-14-16) was a row of five plastic buttons in the shape of cantilevered cubes.  The rearview mirror dislocated the road behind us.  While listening to the radio some of us read the Sunday newspapers.  The pages made slight noises as they turned; each sheet folded over their laps forming temporary geographies of paper.  A valley of print or a ridge of photographs might come and go in an instant." [5.]

'Yours' Supermarket, Belgrave Gate, Leicester, 2013

If one way in which the view from a car can be likened to film is through cropping and framing, the other is, of course, through the editing of an ongoing dynamic view.  This notion of an environment passed through and viewed in a constant state of flux is intrinsic to any form of vehicular travel.  However, some of the features specific to driving, (certainly in cities) are the multiple changes of pace, and of direction, the punctuations of junctions and traffic control measures and the rhythms of stop-start progress through heavily regulated systems.  My own domestic journeys, from which the 'Belgrave GateProject’ originate, could be said to break down, perceptually, into those views remembered as tracking, panning or zooming sequences and those static views apprehended repeatedly as I wait at the same stop lights each day.  Many of these are now indelibly burnt into my visual memory, just as a film editor can ensure certain images become memorialised as resonant landmarks within a film’s overall forward motion through time, space and narrative.

Supermarket Car Park, Belgrave Road, December 2013

Petit certainly captures plenty of this in his films, albeit in a rather hypnotic, Euopean Art-cinema manner.  Ironically, another memorable example comes from a dramatically different tradition.  The cop-thriller, ‘Bullitt’ [6.] is a clichéd favourite of most boy racers and usually scores highly in fatuous lists of ‘Top 10 Car Chases’ etc.  Whilst clearly a love song to the overpowered, under-steering, macho delights of the American muscle car, the film’s chase sequence interests me far more as an account of the specific, sunlit environment that is Urban San Francisco, when viewed from a moving vehicle.

Stills From: 'Bullitt', Peter Yates (Dir.), 1968

There can be few streets more distinctive in character, nor demanding to drive through, than those climbing and descending that city’s precipitous, terraced hillsides.  The sequence cuts in numerous views from within the two vehicles and is particularly effective at describing those numerous occasions when a San Franciscan driver must find their car’s radiator pointing at the sky or into a deep chasm with a severely compromised views.  For all the unbridled dynamism of the chase, it’s also notable, (and relatively realistic), just how often Steve McQueen and the baddies he pursues, are forced to slow for a junction or take account of oncoming traffic.  In terms of painted imagery, if ‘Radio On’ finds some kind of analogue in the work of Jock McFadyen, I can’t watch ‘Bullitt’ without thinking of Wayne Thiebaud’s and Richard Diebenkorn’s views of Californian streets.

Jock McFadyen, 'Looking West', Oil On Canvas, 2003

Jock McFadyen, 'Roman Road', Oil On Canvas, 2007

Wayne Thiebaud, '24th Street Intersection', Oil On Canvas, 1977

Wayne Thiebaud, 'Hill Street (Day City)', Oil On Canvas, 1981

With apologies for yet another mammoth post, there’s one other example I would cite of the relationship between car travel and the cinematic view.  It’s the old technique of projecting film of a passing scene beyond the windows of a static vehicle, (often being rocked by studio technicians).  Such a familiar and dated film technique has become both reassuringly quaint and, in these deconstructed times, an ironic reminder of the very artifice that is central to the medium.  It’s a wonderful instance of a version of the outside world being edited and mediated by the windows of a vehicle as part of a wider cinematic illusion.  Watch something like that at a drive-in (as many routinely once did), and you could easily get lost in all those contextual frames.

Still From: 'Detour',  Edgar G. Ulmer (Dir.), 1945

It occurs to me that many modern cars now feature built-in cameras to relay heavily mediated views to the driver from outside the vehicle.  I’m also struck by how often I read reports of the latest breakthrough in driverless car technology.  With no actual need to monitor the road ahead, how long, I wonder, before the windows of such a vehicle might be transformed into large video screens?  The passing view might actually be selected from anywhere in the world, I suppose, or the whole car just be transformed into a moving cinema or games station.  Would that break the relationship between a car’s occupants and the physical world outside for good?  What would be preferable, I wonder, – to ride from London to Bristol with ‘Radio On’ playing on the windscreen, or to study the actual view, put on some music, and create your own mental road movie, heading west on the old A4?


Postscript:

Although I have only a modest understanding of mathematics, I am slightly anal about finding order within numbers.  Therefore, as this is post No.100 in 2013, - I'll make it the last of the year.

See you in 2014.





[1.]:  Jeremy Clarkson, Numerous Episodes Of 'Top Gear', BBC 2.  Re-Running Ad-Nausiam On Various Channels Around The World, At Pretty Much Any Hour Of The Day.

[2.]:  Chris Petit & Iain Sinclair (Co-Dirs.), 'London Orbital', Illuminations, 2004

[3.]:  Chris Petit (Dir.), 'Radio On', BFI Production Board/Road Movies Filmproduktion GmbH, 1979

[4.] & [5.]:  Robert Smithson, 'The Crystal Land', Harpers Bazaar, May 1966.  In: Jack Flam (Ed.), 'Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings', Berkeley/L.A., University Of California Press Ltd, 1996

[6.]:  Peter Yates (Dir.), 'Bullitt', Solar Productions/Warner Bros. - Seven Arts, 1968

Written City 9: Nosy Parker

Safe & Secure Parking:  Digbeth, Birmingham, August 2013

Sorting through the photos from the Birmingham cycle ride discussed in my last post, I realised that a couple more specific themes had emerged on the day.  The first focused on car park parking signage, a few images of which I’ve included here.  As subjects go, it sounds pretty mundane, I realise, but anyone using a motor vehicle in cities nowadays knows that parking the blinkin’ thing is a significant part of the whole deal.  In that context, those familiar ‘P’ symbols become something many of us engage with on a frequent basis.

50p?:  Digbeth, Birmingham, August 2013

As I’ve immersed myself deeper in different aspects of the urban experience, I’ve started to think increasingly about the ways we move around cities.  On a superficial level, this involves comparing the relative merits of certain modes of transport, (walking/cycling/cars/trains, etc.), for the urban explorer.  On a deeper level is how these different technologies of movement influence our actual perception of the territories we traverse.  That’s of natural interest to the artist and, hopefully, something I’ll discuss further in the future.

Mixed Messages:  Digbeth, Birmingham, August 2013

Larger still is the whole issue of how layers of infrastructure control the entire pattern of our lives.  Movement and transport are clearly a major element here but it’s much wider than that, encompassing communications, utility supply, provision of services and products, public policy, and much else besides.  There’s far more here than I can incorporate into my current work, (or this post), but it all goes into the mental store of themes for possible future work.  For now, I’m scratching the surface through the representations of road systems evident in my current ‘Belgrave Gate Project’ paintings (whose genesis belongs in my own motorised commutes), and photographic explorations of ‘Spaghetti Junction’ and of waterways, roads and railways in Birmingham and Newark.

'Belgrave Gate: Yours 1', Acrylics & Paper Collage On Panel, 100 cm X 100 cm, 2013

Elevated By-Pass:  Newark, Nottinghamshire, 2013

Gravelly Hill, Birmingham, August 2013

One of the practical bonuses of the recent trip to Brum was the ease of parking in the Digbeth area where our expedition began.  As a transitional area with pockets of relative dereliction, Digbeth’s streets contain various yards and vacant lots that have been transformed into ad hoc car parking.  In an obvious way, this in itself signifies how much cars still dominate city life.  With little investment in resurfacing and, at best, sporadic security provision, these private parking empires seem free to try to cut each other’s throats through competitively low charges.  Having paid £2.00 for 24 hours we discovered later that we were near the top end of the market!

Almost Wilfully Inept:  Digbeth, Birmingham August, 2013

As is demonstrated here, many seem to feature a fairly random approach to signage, providing ever more grist to my visual mill.  Of course, the tension between the supposed freedom of independent car travel and its practical accommodation goes on.  Cheap parking is not free parking and clearly, there’s still a need for ‘No Parking’ signs around Digbeth too.  I’ve included a couple of charming homemade examples of those to complete the picture.

Far More Effective As Graphic Communication But Still Pleasingly Ham-Fisted:
Digbeth, Birmingham, August 2012