The Observer from London, Greater London, England • 55

"S5 SUNDAY 5 FEBRUARY 1984 OBSERVER REVIEW ARTS Slipping on blood Master of all trades IF YOU were to gather around MICHAEL RATCLIFFE in London and Manchester. PHILIP FRENCH profiles one of the most gifted, versatile and least-known British Canadian citizenship made it possible for him to take over the direction as well, and he brought all his skills into play. The script was re-written in a couple of weeks. Carpenters got to work on the tram that was the film's mam setting as it travelled north from New England'to Montreal. The ace British cameraman, John Alcott, was brought in tor his ability shoot rapidly with limited light-and space.

Terror Train was the am-1 tic high-point of a horror-cycle past its commercial peak. If never took off at the box-office. Between its rapid completion and disappointing opening, Spottiswoode's agent unwisely turned down several lucrative offers. His client therefore was ready to accept a salvage job on The Pursuit of D. B.

a picture that had run into trouble and was considered unreleasable. He made a viewable version, only to discover that D. B. Cooper, the pseudonymous airline hijacker who had been a Robin Hood celeb-r rity ci the 1970s, was the eariy. 1980s the villain held responsible for making ah travel aq unpleasant.

His third film, 'Under was a quite different experience. At an early stage Spottiswoode and his screen-' writer, Ron Shelton, transformed an original script by the veteran foreign correspondent, Clay Frohman, into the ir own project. The setting was switched from Vietnam to Nicaragua, and the central TONY HUM i and Ann Mitchell (' the beet performance of the night ') as Cornelia In The White TO DESCRIBE the acting of Rupert Everett as mannered is to say that grass is green, lions roar and dogs bark. As the malevolent Ftamineo in Philip Prowse's incense-choked production of The White Devil (Greenwich), Mr Everett also gets to bark, as a matter of fact, but thai is by the way and, like most bestiaOsations of human behaviour, has already been thought of by the playwright. (Til be friends with him, for mark you sir, one dogStill sets another dog Of course it is mannered.

The questions are, rather, does it matter Is it necessary Will he grow out of it Or is he and are we stuck with the cracked nursery laugh and Syronic pout as he takes on the big classical parts he is so gifted by wit, intelligence and good looks to play? It was understandably a nervous performance on Thursday I counted at least four other potential Flamineos in the house md at one point I saw Mr Everett counting them too out the fact is that when he stops speaking great chunks of his part hrough clenched teeth or ielivering them out of the side )f his mouth like distasteful and improper proposals suddenly snatched away, he speaks clearly and well, taking us to the murderous poetic heart of what is here clearly seen to be a great play and to the particular desperation of the career-courtier's life. He even makes us believe that Flamineo must act viciously lest the vidousness of others consume him first, just as Julie Legrand's Virtoria Corombona, despite a distracting resemblance to Yvonne in 'Hi-De-Hi almost convinces us that all this spirited and scornful lady ever wanted to do was to have fun. Of course, it never occurs to any of them that they could have stayed home in Venice, fishing in the lagoon, tatting lace on Burano and quietly poisoning neighbours' wells. No, they have to come to Rome, where the dogs not only bark, but bite rabidly, and the Church has the money, the power and many of Webster's most scalp-tingling lines. In theory a certain amount of mummerish prosciutto is all to the good in getting across this extraordinary play, but here we get two large helpings not only the steely, delicate but thoroughly knowing sort of proiciutto served up by Mr Everett, but also the plain pro- anyone writing for the musical theatre today that a perceived fall from grace like the catastrophe of Merrily We Roll Along (1981) is spectacular, in Broadway terms a death in the family and cause for shame.

But nobody who caught the Guildhall student production in London last year could understand why New York had rejected the show so violently, ana now that I have heard the original cast recording and seen the British professional premiere at the Manchester library Theatre, neither can I. True, there are problems of pain and confusion Rupert Farley as Antonelll Four film 'The Biko Inquest' is the first theatre production of United British Artists, to whom much good fortune, faith and persistence this will be a very good Finney performance indeed. He has been away too long. Biko fills the great space of Riverside like something between a dramatised reading, a political rally and a commemorative rite, and the company takes no call. But it is never boring, and a world of terrible cruelty and ludicrous lies, of vacuous and hairsplitting semantics, is slowly constructed that adds up to a Websterian concatenation of mischief indeed.

There is little in Pam Gems's new comedy to recall the violent and bracingly aggressive writer of 'Piaf and 'Dusa, Fish, Stas andVi and the small print in the programme reveals that Loving Women (Arts) has been developed from The first seen at the Soho Poly in 1976. Like David Edgar's more ambitious' Maydaysit isaplay about the movement of ideas to and fro along the radical front, moving from 1973 (Mao posters and integrated growth- schemes) to 1974 (marriage, first child, Mucha) and ending in JLO linnmrwtmf BHU I11U1 tech) Husband-schoolteacher turned political Green (David Beames) is being kept by salon-owning sex-crazy wife (Gwy-neth Strong) when his former lover and comrade (Marion Bid- your dinner table the editor of Sam Peckinpah's Pat Garrett and Billy the the producer of Karel Reisz's Dog tne scriptwriter ot waiter Hill's 48 HRS and the director of Under Fire' (the bold film about journalists covering the JNicaraguan cmi war tnat opens in London this week), you would think there would the basis for a lively, contentious party. In fact you would be dining alone with the tall, gentle bespectacled Roger Spottis-woode. At 38, he is one of the most gifted, versatile and least-known British film-makers around. His career has been a curious mixture of good and III hick.

At every juncture he has been fortunate in the people he has worked with. Each of the three movies he has directed, bow-ever, has appeared at just the wrong time. He was born in 1945 in Canada, where his father, Ray mond apotoswoode, the most distinguished film theorist Britain has produced, was John Grierson's right-hand man at the National Film Board. Brought back to London at the age of three, Roger grew up in the austere shadow of the author of die scholarly A Grammar of the Film (1935) and Film and Its Techniques' (1951). Hollywood and TV were scorned; family weekends were devoted to screenings of classic documentaries and art-movies hi the garage.

unerson's bioasanher des cribed Raymond Spottiswoode as immaculate and and it was more a reaction against his fastidious fiuner man touowmg in ma footsteps that sent the 16-year-old Roger, soon after be had left Harrow, to search for work in wardour Street. He was deter mined tobeadirectortf papular movies. He began as a messenner bov masmau Soho company making sponsored documentaries and TV commercials, where he rose to be an editor, i960 tne British Film Institute's production board refused bis request for a grant to make a short feature film on the grounds that ms script was too conventional. The same year one of Britain's top editors, John Bloom, made him an assistant on 'Georgy His next big break came when he joined the team editing the: endless Peckmpah was shooting on his 1971 British movie, 'Straw Feckmpah took Spottiswoode back to the States to finish die picture and kept him on to edit Tli rflrtl wImm k. m.ii the screenwriter Walter HOD and 'Pat Garrett and Billy the The latter involved a legendary running battle between Peckinpah and the head of MGM, James Aubrey, which Sve Spottiswoode an insight to American movie-making at its most horrendous.

He stayed on to cut Karel Reisz's first American picture, 'The having been recommended by John Bloom. Spottiswoode feeb he could have had no better preparation for directing than his collaboration with the intuitive, explosive Peckinpah, who sets his actors loose and looks for those inspired moments between weirds, and the quiet, articulate Rdsz, author of a' handbook on editing, who prepares his movies scrupulously and is always ready to discuss nuances of interpretation with his players. Spottiswoode'8 new friend, Walter Hill, invited him to edit his directorial debut, "The and during the shooting advised him to git out of the cuttmg-room and into writing if he really wanted to become a director. Several unfiimed screenplays followed, one of which later becameHitt's '48 the fifth most successful film of 1983. Then came the valuable experience of pnxhidngReisz's still the best picture about Vietnam.

The entry into direction was for-tuitous A Canadian contpany wanted scnieone toedit' Terror an exploitation quickie tocashinonthe vogue far high-school hmfucks. It had to be prepared and shot in the eight weeks before Christinas 1979. Spottiswoode's accidental Weak links rescue engineering and content the action flows backwards in time and sometimes makes heavy demands on the retentiveness of audience-memory, and the end offers a view of human beha-vknn-and aspirations as bleak as Little Eyolf' and Trains and But both music and lyrics are of a profuse inventiveness and vivacity, and, far from being a catastrophe, Merrily emerges in many respects as the quintessential Sondhehn show. Quintessence meaning synthesis, refining, and not merely the same all over again. The Library is a delightful the comic Kate (Felicity Montagu) than her hairstyle.

What aOs her is that she calls herself a feminist, but likes men and wants to be liked back especially in bed better than she is by her lover (Tim McLmemy), a comedian with a string of girls as vast as his store of impersonations. But the author's surprise offering fa) the S2 production, is played with great poignancy by Joanne Pearce as a girt who nas Been omzea py her own attractiveness, to men into obhterating all other aspects of herself I would love to say that Mr Johnson has been too hard on the men; possibly he could MOST jszz lovers suffer from a mild form of peisecudon mania, and high on the list in their recital of wrongs and slights has been the affair known as the Wiping of the Tapes. 'And what happened to all that BBC2 stuff someone would demand. Wiped would come the gloomy reply. Erased and gone for good were tne 25-nunute programmes, old-Sixties by broadcast in the mid- title las 625 and featuring some' of the greatest tuners in.

the music's history Everyone qfftnfd to certain about it that nobody actually bothered to check in the BBC archives untUDavkl Meeker of the British Film Institute, author of the standard reference work, Jazz hi The began rummaging in the vaults last year. He found that, although the original video tapes had been destroyed, someone had canted 35mm film ccyicstobe made, and these were still sitting, neatly labelled, on the shelves. A selection win be shown at the National Film Theatre later tins month. It is hard to overestimate the richness of this find. 'Jazz 625' captured just about every American jazz master who visited Britsmat the time.

Many of them are now dead and few have been satisfactorily recorded on -film, either before or since. There is, for example, the Duke Ellington Orchestra in its last great flowering when Johnny Hodges, Harry Carney; Paul Gonsalves and Cat Anderson were still alive and playing in the band. Thekm-ious Monk can be seen, Ben Webster and Coleman Hawkins, Bill Evans and the magnificent British tenor saxophonist Tubby Hayes. All are gone now. One of the most interesting fums shows the late Errofl To the sciutto naturale of Gerard Murphy's Brachiano, first seen spewing an arc of diced carrots across the dinner table and played almost throughout as a damned and drunken lout.

As his Barbican Hal and Stratford East Pericles showed, Mr Murphy has resources of nobility and ruthless charm, but they are not drawn upon here Ann Mitchell, an actress new to me, gives die best performance of the night as the uniquely virtuous Cornelia. Prowse sets the play before two tall white catafalques spiked with guttering candles like slices of cake. To the sides, two smaller units suggest Roman studies with Anglepoise lamps and black telephones. (Nobody calls.) The catafalques, each with secret doors that open to swallow or disgorge eavesdroppers, lovers, princes and assassins, revolve with the action to suggest the streets and corridors ofPadua and Rome. Hooded figures pray in comers like mourners on a Canova tomb this may be the Counter-Reformation, but Prowse is a neo-classicist at heart.

The show should settle in well, Inquest (Riverside Studios), a compression by Jon Blair and Norman Fenton of the official inquiry into the horrible, slow death of Steve Biko in the custody of the South African security police in 1977 So much paper changed hands in Albert Finney's corner of the courtroom on the first night that it was some time before it dawned on me that Finney, who plays" the Biko familyiawyer and also directs, was receiving the script of the play from his unspeaking assistant (Mark Jefferis) a few sheets at a time, as quired. To Mr Jefferis, then, who performs this task punctiliously, the week's Coolness in Action Award, and to Mr Finney the Bravado Cup, because such is his vocal and physical resourcefulness, not to say cheek, that he gets away with it. Even with his eye on a typescript and his chin in his chest, Finney projects quiet anger with a voice of iron, pointing up key words like chained, naked, dog, kit, brain, bump, slab as bruises on common decency, and when he has learned all his lines for the Channel 1 by STEPHEN WALSH whose 20-minute first movement, with its interminable proportional canons, practically cleared the hall in favour of the bar, so that a lot of people missed the ensuing Quartet a genuinely cogent and attractive piece of string writing, some four minutes in length. Works by Cowell, one of numerous American composers who owe their fame to a flair for experimentation rather than any particular artistic genius, framed the other works. But none of these pieces by young British composers showed any spiritual links with America.

Mostly their allegiances were French, audibly and, in two cases, explicitly so. These two, oddly enough both inspired by French paintings, immediately stamped their personality on the proceedings. They made a well balanced pair: Vic Hoyland's matching the fragmentary surface of Braque's engraving with an arrangement of laconic chor-dal gestures beautifully laid out and perfectly placed rhythmically within a tightly managed temporal space (the performance under Howard Williams was completely convincing); more aware of some of man's greatest achievements. A copy of our very tempting brochure can beyours by telephoning us on 01-2470401, or by sending the coupon. 1ENIC art treasures tours NAME- ADDRESS- Swan Hellenic Limited, Beaufort House, St Botolph Street, London EC3 A 1DX.

SWANES HE1 amattjdvic theatre with limned means, but if lishtma, choreo graphy and design are pretty cast is emimnsstic thecaaeofMartmGeWsemi than that), and Howard Llovd- Lewnrs production and Roger names conducting zip by. Haines has reduced the Broad way band of hat under 30 players to one of ant, and very good they are. Apart from a mixed pro-amateur production Cardiff in April, aory your last cnance to see 'Merrily' before Sondheim preparesanew version. Just go, uyoupomDiy have been more interested in them. But feels real and ends, as Pam Gems's new 'Loving Women' does, with the two lovers of one man tiptoeing towards a brave new world in which their own bond will be stronger dan the sexual one Michael Abbensett's El Dorado (Theatre Royal, Strat ford East) talks about class, colour ana property among mixed and monied races in Guyana.

It ought to be fascinat ing, but isn't. Rohm Don's set ol a muse, umbered drawins- room is very beautiful, but here, as in the acting of this Cheknovian family drama, no one thought to embellish it with the little ornamenti that could give A singularity and life. by DAVE QELLY virtuoso pianist. This tiny, elf-like individual had a technique which, being entirely self-taught, was officially imposs-ibk. Unable to read music, he constructed a style which suited him and expressed perfectly the essence of his mischievous and nuldtv subversive personality.

Nowadays, when everyone learns to play according to the book, 25 minutes of Gamer could be an ffdncst ionsi experience or a young pianist. Most fines of jazz mink isns at work are marred by fussy direction. The csror ra is forever wandering off in search of dancers or lovers in die comer or, as happfnyf fn Thf lining Mnnlr fn one movie, saumg-boats a nearby harbour. The great thing about die Jazz 625. programmes was producer Terry Henebery's iniistfnce on snowing pi actually playing.

David Mi declares that the NFT series is as much a tribute to Hcncbeiy the fum-mskerMacck4tationofthe flQuiciutt'uC fibood It is a soberihs thought that when jazz was at its lowest ebb in popularity mkl-Sixties were the high years of British rock music. Yet now, when jazz is more popular than it nas ever been, there is notiung on television which comes wfinin hailing distance of 'Jazz 625' and its 'Jazz Goes To Coll- Jazz At Ronnie Scott's and 'Jazz At The BvenChamFburseemstohave idven uo. Jazz fans are expert moaners but here they've really got sometntng to moan snout. How foreign journalists perceive us is the theme of Larry1 Harris's Radio 4 serifs. Images of Britain.

A motor-industry! spokrsnisn was heard droning on at a briefing organised by the Central Office of Information, assuring the overseas haclo that at last we had turned the corner. Some of them sounded, well, sceptical. Elsewhere a woman reporter from Peking had been on a Karl Marx tour. She wrote in die PtopWt DaBy that the house he core, occupied in Soho was now surrounded by the 'stink of capibutst filth Like all die one-person bureaus in London, she relies on the local media for most of her intonation. This may be just as welt.

If the PtopWs Daily had a proper news team they might be able to send someone down to the Burdett estate to talk to Asians. ley) returns from five years of desolation in a Bolivian mining community, in order to have his child and acquire a piece of English earth. One by one the jargons of yesterday and today are raised up and mocked and the piece ends in farcical punch-ups and neat gins for the girls. Sex-crazy Crystal is spot on and very funny, a happier soul-sister to Vi in the earner piece, but ideas are pinned on the other two like buttons and the characters have no life outside them. The talents of Stephen Sond-heim, while not superhuman, stand so far above those of Cries of WHEN so much dramatic writing is pale and imitative, it is delicious to find a playwright who thinks for himself and has an eye for what's happening on the streets here, now.

It's a zoo, of course. Terry Johnson's Unsuitable For Adults (Bush) is a story about women hurt by men, and Mr Johnson is a man and he howls with pam and confusion, ine characters are the seedy land- lord of a ghastly pub owafew Rose's deadly accurate sets) and his motley troupe of entertainers, who are a stripper, a female and a male alternative1 comic, and a (bad) alternative magician. With another playwright we would certainly get nal distinction to the run of the mill. In Wednesday'sECO concert under Gustav Kuhn three well-known works by Mozart received mediocre performances, and the only really HigringiiighH thing in the whole programme was Felicity Lotf singing of Britten's 'Les the Rimbaud cycle he wrote for the soprano Sophie Wyss (who died recently), though it was of course made famous by Peter Pears. Miss Lott restored to it something of that pristine clarity of delivery an almost instrumental purity 'Which seems to be implicit here in the vocal writing with strings.

I missed in her singing the sheer variety and incisiveness of diction Pears used to bring to this music. In their place she offered near-perfection of line and a mastery of dynamics that perhaps even Pears could hardly have At the The rotten lives that a lot of Asians live in nice old tolerant Britain was the subject of a gloomy report in Monday Matters (Capital Radio). Mark Halliley went to the Burdett Housing estate in east London, where a hundred of the 700 flats are occupied by Asians, mainly from Bangladesh, the bottom of the immigrant heap. The instruments of terror are unglamorouB stones through windows, kicks on doors, threats in the street. You can see why the police don't exert themselves It's too much effort for too little kudos, and too prevalent for their resources in any case.

Halliley talked to a group of white a word that doesn't sound quite right, aged from 10 to IS. Like clockwork monsters, they cursed, swore and giggled about the Pakis. Then, the soft porn over, it was time for OPTIMISTICALLY titled Transatlantic Connections 3 (it was the third in the series), Monday's New Macnaghten concert by the Endymion Ensemble at the Wigmore Hall was more like one of those old-style irritation concerts which always seemed to come about by chance and with whatever music and performers happened to be hanging around, rather than as the result of any very obvious planning process. As usual on these occasions much of the evening passed pleasantly enough in conversation with old friends while chairs and music-stands were shifted round the platform. By 8.

IS, after 45 minutes, we had heard 20 minutes of music by 9.40 it seemed time to leave, if inly to let the management tidy lp. The performers, less considerate, were once again rearranging the platform. Browsing through my programme during one of these lengthy pauses, I noticed Ian Horsburgh's assertion in the preface that themes for concerts are only as good as the music they join I would rather suggest that good music doesn't need a theme in this sense, while an obsession with linkages will often let in poor music under the pretence of relevance. A clear example on Monday was Henry Cowell's 'Quartet Alan Ople (Became seer) In ENO's new production of Wagner's The Masters! which opened at the Coliseum last night. It will be reviewed next Sunday.

chsractfT made into a photo- grapher and structured i bis craft changing responsibility. When two bankable stars, Nk-kNctoandGHsckmaty liked the screenplay, a i Roger Spottiswoode Histfew film, 'Under Fire opeattfft London this week. budget was soon raised. Jeinf Louis Trintignant agreed appear in his first speakmg role as the local agent and Spottiswoode spedti; month -garp'1g him The Mexican Government was not only co-operative. The Minister of Culture sent a special letter capprovaltothe area; used for location shooting requesting the army 'the; regional flHri and tiw public-to give every assistance.

They all felt ir was their Spottiswoode believes. A complex, expensive, politically sensitive project went tfazoui with tiic iniiiiinxifn xtf hitches. Spottiswoode was veiy-happy with the picture -and' while he anticipated sohteV objections from the Right; he: never thought of the film being simplicistically antK American. '-v 'Under Fire' is man entirely dnmrent class from virtu anything else Hclrywood rimut -ahnrtt Atnitmea'k Tj American neighbours -thel grotesque for example, which JackPalance (father of Spottiswoode's wife, the; American' actress Holly Pal- ance) played Fidel Castro. Unfortunatelv it obenei America in October, a fewl after the suicide attack oj Marines in Beirut and the "i aton of Grenada.

Tne last thing. theAmericanpubbcwantedwss: a thoughtful action movie in which the heroes were Third WorMguenillas with whom the-Hollywood stars Despite favourable reviews, the: picture did poor business. Jil should do better here, and cannot fail to make Roger Spottiswoode's name register in future. is Qss 1 by VICTORIA RADIN the stripper's turn, but what we see here is the female comic, whose final cry of sexual rage owes a lot to Trevor Griffiths's Gethin Price in Mr Johnson's great gift is that he has no doctrine to deliver. He actually likes his characters, and is thus able to endow them with ambiguous, paradoxical life.

Events pubucsn flvor Roberts), who holds ancient views on women and is happy to flog Ids stripper's smalls to the punters, is able to ante mat ne has ruined the Irm of his wife and daughters. This does not, however, prevent him from being blind to the fact that there is a good deal more wrong with johnhodmh matched. It wasakively performance certainly, if not the complete picture, and the SCO's playmg was also the best of the evening. There was nothing here, however, as sharp as the Sinfonietta'8 playing under David Atherton of Ravel's 'L'Heure espagnole' in Friday's Festival Hall conceit -a wring end to intriguing seriesTif not by some way its composer's most substantial work. Mark Wheeler's staging, with its pretty Hoffmantvsque mechanical dous and coffm-nke grandfather docks, fitted an amazing amount of.

(mostly trouble-free) incidents into a small space, and the distended tale was elegantly sung by a cast headed by Ann Murray and ttephen Roberts. How the same tradition bred this fastidious music and Varese's ear-splitting the series has asked rather than answered. bottom by PAUL FERRIS the nasties. A carload of teenagers drew up, announced that given the chance they would fucking run the Pakis over with the motor, spat in the face of a passing Asian, and drove off again. The victim told Halliley that he didn't want to bring charges.

In a studio discussion afterwards, the community-relations policeman said it took time to train officers, the GLC housing rtiairman W8S honest enOUgh tO admit grave defects in policy and the attitudes of council staff, and the Asian community worker repeated tales of woe with the weary politeness of a man who Above and beyond the blue horizon. 16 DAY SPECIAL INTEREST TOUR OF KASHMIR LADAK and Anthony Powers's a typically more generous and sensuous response to Monet's paintings in the Orangery and rich in memorable instrumental detail. Both composers had evidently put a lot of work into evolving precise formal designs out of short or even dimensionless sound-ideas: a chordal harmony with Hoyland, a melody and a chord sequence with Powers, illustrating nicely the old adage about genius being 10 per cent inspiration and 90 per cent perspiration. With Erika Fox's which had won the Gerald Finzi Com position Award, one felt by contrast mat a good idea, the opposition of melody instru ments (ttute, ceuo and colour instruments (harp, vibraphone), had somehow drifted away into mere sound-effects, notatwaystemoryweu mixed at that. The dramatic interaction, Miss Fox claims, is exciting to me whether she had made it exciting to others I doubt.

The truth about this Macnaghten is that its title is nothing but a label, and probably should have been dropped at the plan ning stage, ine same can hardly be said about two-composer series like the London Sinfonietta'8 RavelVarese cycle, which ended on Friday, or the English Chamber Orche stra's Mozart and Britten series, which started at the Queen Elizabeth Hall last Wed nesday and continues on the remaining Wednesdays in Feb ruary. These have an automatic justification in the outstanding Quality ot tne composers con cerned, and if in the process works crop up which are norm ally not heard (as in both these cycles'), then one might even have to modify one's argument about good music not needing a Even so, the series idea can of the heap knows there are more racists about than most of his white felkw-drizens like to admit. OieckpohUubackonRadio4, uncovering villainy and injustice. There is probably something indulgent about listening to stories of people wronged, and then forgetting all about them, except that ifs nice it didn't happen to us. Simon Fletcher, an elderly industrialist who says he was swindled out of steelworks and a bank in the Second World War as a result of government action, has devoted 40 years to banging his head against a brick wall in search of redress.

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