While promoting the movie"Battleship"in Tokyo last month,U.S. ArmyCol. Greg Gadson found himself face-to-face with a stunned reporter.
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Stuart Kemp
Bee Gee who notched up dozens of hits both with his brothers and solo dies after a protracted struggle against cancer
• Obituary: high notes and harmonies
• Bob Stanley: a tribute in words and music
• Life in pictures
Robin Gibb, one-third of the Bee Gees and a singer-songwriter who helped to turn disco into a global phenomenon by providing the core of the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever, has died from cancer.
With his distinctive, quavering voice, Gibb notched up dozens of hits and sold more than 200m records as a performer and writer along with his twin brother Maurice, who died in 2003, and elder brother Barry.
The siblings, whose catalogue includes Massachusetts, I've Gotta Get a Message to You, How Deep Is Your Love and Stayin' Alive, established their pop legacy by placing their falsetto harmonies at the centre of the 70s disco boom.
It was an era whose look they also captured, posing for the cover of the Saturday Night Fever album with toothy smiles, bouffant hair and tight white outfits.
Born on the Isle of Man to English parents on 22 December, 1949, Gibb started out performing alongside his brothers as a child act encouraged by their father Hugh, a band leader, and their mother Barbara, a former singer.
The family moved to Australia in 1958, where the brothers continued to perform and took the name Bee Gees, an abbreviation of brothers Gibb. Seeking to move beyond the Australian market, they returned to the UK in the mid-60s and had their first major hit with New York Mining Disaster 1941, which reached the Top 20 in both the UK and US.
A later single, To Love Somebody, was co-written by Robin, but the lead vocals were taken by Barry. This led to tension and Robin quit the group in 1969.
The Bee Gees regrouped in 1970 and enjoyed their first US No 1, Lonely Days. The following year they had another hit with How Can You Mend a Broken Heart, later covered by soul legend Al Green.
Their manager, Robert Stigwood, brought them on board for Saturday Night Fever, a film he was producing, and the songs were written in little over a weekend. Disco was already established but the music and the film combined to give it even greater popularity.
The band's sales took a hit with the end of the disco boom and they concentrated on solo material and producing hits for other artists before staging a comeback in 1987.
Gibb, a sensitive, teetotal vegetarian, was described last night as "a musical giant" by the British singer songwriter Mick Hucknall, one of a number of celebrities paying tribute to him.
The DJ Mike Read, who was a family friend, said the singer had an "incredible voice", adding: "Robin had the voice, the pathos, and he was a great writer."
"In his head he could come up with some great melodies. I was delighted to work with him. He had a gift for melody and a gift for lyrics and left a phenomenal legacy, a phenomenal catalogue."
The former deputy prime minister, John Prescott, tweeted: "Just heard about Robin Gibb. A good friend, a brilliant musician and a man who turned all of us into wannabe Travoltas!"
In recent years, Gibb had found it particularly hard to come to terms with the 2003 death of his twin. In an interview seven months later, he said: "He was part of the fabric of my life. We were kids together, and teenagers. We spent the whole of our lives with each other because of our music. I can't accept that he's dead. I just imagine he's alive somewhere else."
He was later to contract the same bowel condition that led to his brother's death, leading to his own protracted bout of ill health.
In 2011 he finished recording his first solo album in seven years, a collection tentatively titled 50 St Catherine's Drive.
Doctors performed surgery on his bowel 18 months ago but a tumour was discovered and he was diagnosed with cancer of the colon and subsequently of the liver.
He fell into a coma last month after contracting pneumonia but his family later said he had "beaten the odds" just days after doctors said he "was in God's hands". His family announced his death yesterday in a statement "with great sadness".
He last performed on stage in February, supporting injured servicemen and women at the Coming Home charity concert held at the London Palladium and had been due to premiere his classical work The Titanic Requiem in April with son Robin-John, but the event went ahead without him due to his poor health.
Ben Quinn
One of the three brothers who hit the high notes in disco hits as the Bee Gees
Robin Gibb, who has died aged 62, was one of the three brothers who made up the international chart-topping group the Bee Gees. They were best known for their disco hits of the 1970s, which included Stayin' Alive, Night Fever and Jive Talkin', but enjoyed success in every decade from the 1960s to the 2000s. Robin also charted intermittently as a solo artist. He released six solo albums between 1970 and 2006, and scored a British No 1 single as recently as 2009 with a new version of the Bee Gees' song Islands in the Stream, for Comic Relief.
He was born on the Isle of Man, twin brother of Maurice, and son of Barbara, a former singer, and Hugh Gibb, a bandleader. The family moved to Chorlton, Manchester, in the 1950s. Robin, Maurice and their older brother, Barry, took to music early and made their first appearances onstage as a between-shows act at cinemas, in Manchester, in 1955. In 1958 the family moved to Brisbane, Australia, where the trio performed as the Brothers Gibb. They were given their own local TV show and changed their name to the BGs, which later became Bee Gees, and in 1962 signed to Festival records.
"We wanted to make music all our lives and it evolved to a point where the only people who could understand that were the three of us," Robin said. "We didn't feel comfortable with anybody but ourselves. The three of us were like one person."They had begun writing their own material, but suffered a string of flops before finally achieving a modest hit with Wine and Women. In late 1966, well aware of the pop-music boom happening in Britain, they moved back to their original homeland. Ironically, their song Spicks and Specks then topped the Australian charts. Meanwhile, they impressed Robert Stigwood, a pop entrepreneur who had become a partner in the Beatles manager Brian Epstein's Nems organisation. Stigwood became their manager, and, in 1967, the trio scored their first international hit with New York Mining Disaster 1941, which made No 12 in the UK and No 4 in the US.
This launched a string of memorable pop ballads, including To Love Somebody, Massachusetts (their first UK chart-topper) and Words. They made their debut album, Bee Gees 1st, in 1967, followed by Horizontal and Idea, which they also produced.
Not long after returning to England, Robin met Molly Hullis, who worked at Nems, and became his first wife. Both of them were involved in the Hither Green train crash in south-east London in November 1967. "I just wanted to escape," said Robin. "At the same time I made a mental decision that it wasn't going to affect my life, so I shut it out."
The Bee Gees made rapid commercial progress, but this was suddenly halted during the making of their 1969 double-LP, Odessa. There had already been rivalry between Robin and Barry over which of them was lead vocalist. Now, after an argument over whether Robin's Lamplight or Barry's First of May should become the A-side of their next single, Robin walked out on his brothers and set about recording the solo album Robin's Reign, on which he wrote, produced and sang all the material. It resulted in the 1969 hit Saved By the Bell. Meanwhile, the other two singers made the next Bee Gees album, Cucumber Castle, before following Robin into solo work. The influence of fame, drugs and money had had a corrosive effect on fraternal harmony.
In 1970, the brothers realised that they were stronger together and reformed the Bee Gees, even though Robin had almost completed a second album, Sing Slowly Sisters. The reunited trio released the hit singles Lonely Days and How Can You Mend a Broken Heart (the latter a US No 1), but failed to gain much commercial traction with a string of albums. They began to find a new direction with Mr Natural (1974), produced by the illustrious Arif Mardin and leaning towards an American R&B sound.
The follow-up, Main Course (1975), featured ingredients that would soon make the Bee Gees one of the world's biggest acts – dance rhythms, high harmonies, and Barry's remarkable falsetto singing. They achieved another American No 1 with Jive Talkin', then more success with Nights on Broadway and the album Children of the World.
In 1977, Stigwood asked the trio for some songs for the soundtrack of a movie he was producing about the disco scene in Brooklyn, Saturday Night Fever. The project gave the Bee Gees three monster hits with Stayin' Alive, Night Fever and How Deep Is Your Love, while the parent album sold 30m copies. Robin consequently appeared on the Sesame Street Fever album (1978), in which the popular television puppets parodied the disco hits successfully enough to earn a gold disc.
Though the Bee Gees scored another platinum album with Spirits Having Flown (1979), and also fared well with the soundtrack to the limp Saturday Night Fever sequel, Stayin' Alive, a post-Fever hangover set in as disco reached saturation point. The Bee Gees filed a $200m lawsuit against Stigwood for alleged mismanagement that was settled out of court. Barry pursued side projects with Barbra Streisand and Dionne Warwick, while the three brothers wrote Islands in the Stream (1983) for Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, and Chain Reaction (1985) for Diana Ross – both were huge successes.
The Bee Gees would bounce back in the late 80s with the albums ESP and One, but meanwhile Robin stepped up his solo work, releasing the albums How Old Are You? (1983), Secret Agent (1984)and Walls Have Eyes (1985). He enjoyed moderate chart success with Secret Agent in Europe but made little impact in the UK or the US, with the exception of the 1984 single Boys Do Fall in Love, which made the US top 40.
He did not release another album until Magnet in January 2003, which, by bleak coincidence, appeared in the same week that Maurice died (their younger brother Andy, also a huge pop star in the US, had died of myocarditis aged 30 in 1988). After Maurice's death, Barry and Robin disbanded the Bee Gees.
In 2004, Robin released two versions of the 1997 Bee Gees song My Lover's Prayer as a double A-sided single, which reached No 5 in the UK. A year later, Robin and Barry appeared together as part of the One World Project to record Grief Never Grows Old, a charity single for Asian tsunami relief. In 2005, Robin appeared on stage at the Albert Hall in London with X Factor runners-up G4 and sang the Bee Gees song First of May.
In 2006, he released Robin Gibb – My Favourite Carols, which included a new composition by him called Mother of Love, inspired by Maurice. In 2008, he appeared in a 30th-anniversary stage presentation of Saturday Night Fever at the BBC Electric Proms at the Roundhouse in north London. His collaboration with Ruth Jones, Rob Brydon and Tom Jones on the Comic Relief version of Islands in the Stream took him back to the top of the charts in 2009.
In 2010, he underwent surgery for a blocked intestine, and continuing health problems forced him to cancel several concerts and a tour of Brazil. In November 2011, it was revealed that he had been diagnosed with liver cancer.
He was made a CBE in 2002. Robin Gibb is survived by his second wife, Dwina, whom he married in 1985, and their son Robin-John, with whom he wrote The Titanic Requiem, premiered last month; by his children Spencer and Melissa from his first marriage; by his daughter Snow Robin, by Claire Yang; and by Barry.
• Robin Hugh Gibb, singer, born 22 December 1949; died 20 May 2012
Adam Sweeting
Barry may have been the leader of the Bee Gees, but Robin was the eccentric, the grit in their oyster
His big brother Barry wrote the bigger hits, and his twin brother Maurice hung out with Ringo Starr and Oliver Reed, but Robin Gibb has always been my favourite Bee Gee. In their pre-disco days, Robin always had his hand cupped over his ear and, with his spaniel hair, cut a wan figure on stage. Barry could soften his voice, go gooey and breathy on a song like Words, but Robin's voice was loud, quavering and intense. It sounded unhappy; it sounded like no one else before or since.
I've always been drawn to pop's unlikely outsiders, ones who make a mark without resorting to any of the usual rock'n'roll behaviour, whether they be Del Shannon or Vic Godard or Adam Ant, and Robin Gibb fits the bill perfectly. There's the childhood story about him picking up the fire bug. Aged eight he became a part-time pyromaniac, and quickly progressed from bedclothes to advertising hoardings. One day a member of the Manchester constabulary came knocking and gently suggested the family should consider emigrating. Manchester's problem became Australia's, but Robin started to channel his pyro activities into vocal harmonies – with no New York subway stations available, the brothers practised their art in public conveniences.
While Barry Gibb was the pin-up, and the group's leonine leader, Robin struggled to assert himself, even though he was as prolific a writer as his big brother. The Bee Gees' manager Robert Stigwood, he felt, favoured his prettier older brother when it came to A-sides. He was also dogged by incredibly bad fortune. In 1968 he was returning to London from Hastings with his fiancee Molly when the train carriage they were in came off the rails just outside Catford. The Hither Green train disaster killed 49 people. The desolate Really and Sincerely ("My mind is open wide/ I'm on the other side") was the first song Robin wrote after the crash.
Robin and Molly married a few months later. Honeymooning in the Alps, in a tiny cabin, they were snowed in by an avalanche and weren't discovered until four days later. From this point on, he was always more likely to write an elegy – like 1970's Sincere Relation – than Jive Talking.
At least Robin's perceived second-billing was subtly avenged over time – Barry never had a sizeable solo hit, but Robin had a huge European hit with the Dickensian angst of Saved by the Bell (a UK No 2 in 1969) during a brief split from his brothers. In the early 80s, when the Bee Gees brand was almost unmarketable in a post-disco world, he pulled it off again with Juliet, a melancholy slice of upbeat electropop that again hit top 10s everywhere in Europe apart from Britain, reaching No 1 in Germany.
While Barry has always kept the Gibb family unit tight, with brothers, spouses and parents all living within walking distance of each other in Miami, Robin has always rebelled. So when Barry and Maurice were making the hapless TV comedy Cucumber Castle in 1969, Robin set out to show he was the group's renaissance man. He may have seemed a delicate flower on stage but he didn't lack for ambition. That summer the NME reported that he had "completed a book called On the Other Hand which is to be published soon … I'm a great admirer of Dickens." In the few weeks between leaving the Bee Gees and hitting the chart with Saved by the Bell he wrote more than 100 songs.
"I'm also doing the musical score for a film called Henry the Eighth," he told Fabulous, "and I'm making my own film called Family Tree. It involves a man, John Family, whose grandfather is caught trying to blow up Trafalgar Square with a homemade bomb wrapped in underwear." In July 1969
the NME announced Robin was "fronting a 97-piece orchestra and a 60-piece choir in a recording of his latest composition To Heaven and Back, which was inspired by the Apollo 11 moonshot. It is an entirely instrumental piece, with the choir being used for 'astral effects'." Robin Gibb was still only 19 years old.
He was also obsessed with British history. In 1984 he bought a 12th century house called The Prebendal in Thame, Oxfordshire; while Barry and Maurice seemed more at home sunning themselves in Miami, their brother was proud to tell visitors that Elizabeth I and Henry VIII had both strolled around his dark, oak-lined home.
Age barely mellowed his eccentricity. In the 90s he left his brothers speechless when, during an interview with all three of them on Howard Stern's show, he announced his wife Dwina was bisexual and they enjoyed threesomes. He quickly said it was a joke, then changed his mind again a week later. With their cocooned, peripatetic upbringing (Isle Of Man, Manchester, Australia), the Gibbs never had an instinct for cool pop moves. And Robin Gibb's music - untutored and isolated (I can picture most of it being written on a harpsichord in a dimly lit 12th century living room) – has come out without any of the usual dulling rock'n'roll filters. Who else could have written Odessa (City on the Black Sea) about a man stranded on an iceberg, writing a letter to his wife who loves "that vicar more than words can say"? Frankly, no one.
Bob Stanley
Neville Gabie's next project will 'explore how far away we might have moved from the original spirit of the Games'
The former artist in residence at the Olympic Park plans to create a new artwork – by being as far away as possible from Stratford during the Games.
Neville Gabie was artist in residence in the Olympic Park between September 2010 and January this year when organisers took over the site.
He is now launching a public discussion on where he should spend the night of the opening ceremony on 27 July.
The artist said he had decided on the plan after becoming disillusioned with aspects of the modern Olympics, and in particular its commercialisation.
"When you're involved close up with something like that you start to worry about the ethos of the Olympics and whether the original spirit of the Games is really reflected in what we have now," he said. "This project is an idea to explore how far away we might have moved from the original spirit of the Games."
Gabie said he was open-minded about whether or not "the greatest distance" from the Games at 7.30pm on the night of Danny Boyle's opening ceremony would be represented physically or metaphorically.
"I want to explore whether being disenfranchised is a social, economic, physical or cultural thing," he said. "I consider it an extension of the body of work I did with the ODA. For me it's really important it's seen in the context of all the other work I did on the Olympic Park."
Gabie, who completed several works on the park including an homage to Seurat's Bathers at Asnières with construction workers and a project where he attempted to sit in every seat in the stadium, will appeal for suggestions through his blog.
The Free Word centre in London, which is staging a series of exhibitions and talks on politics and the Olympics throughout the summer, will also help solicit suggestions. Gabie eventual destination will be decided by a panel.
"I am passionate about sport myself. But sometimes those things appear to be very compromised by the power of that cold, corporate involvement," said Gabie.
"The whole of London becomes a militarised zone for the period of the Olympics and sport has moved so far from a celebration of amateur athletes and the world coming together peacefully."
Gabie said his period as artist in residence for the Olympic delivery authority was a "fantastic opportunity" and praised the skill and spirit of those who built the venues. But he said other aspects of the modern Games had made him uneasy.
"There were lots of things I saw there, some very positive and some less so. I see my role as an artist to reflect all those opinions," he said.
Owen Gibson
Helen Moss, author of the Adventure Island series of books, is kicking off a competition, Operation Diamond, here on the Guardian children's books site.
She explains how a real life treasure trove inspired the mystery behind the first book in the series, and sets the first question in her blog-and-clue trail
When I started planning the first Adventure Island book I soon had most of the ingredients for the story; two brothers, a girl and her dog, an island, a secret passage and a ruined castle on the cliffs. All I needed now was a baffling mystery to solve.
I knew something had to be stolen from the castle. But I didn't want it to be anything ordinary like a handbag or a mobile phone. It had to be something really exciting, something hugely valuable, something with a dramatic history...
I did lots of research and learned some fascinating facts about robberies. For example, did you know that the most commonly stolen type of food is CHEESE! Well, that didn't help much. I could hardly start off the Adventure Island series with the mysterious disappearance of a box of Dairylea triangles, could I?
I was starting to think I'd never come up with the perfect robbery when I heard a radio programme about the Staffordshire Hoard and I knew that was what I'd been looking for!
If you've studied the Anglo Saxons at school, you'll have heard of the Staffordshire Hoard. In 2009, a man called Terry Herbert was searching some fields with his metal detector. He probably expected to find a few old coins or a broken buckle. Imagine his surprise when he came across a hoard of over 3,500 Saxon artifacts, almost all gold and silver decorative pieces from weapons – beautifully carved, many inlaid with jewels. There were five kilos of gold alone (that's over 285 Dairylea triangles!)
That metal detector must have been beeping like crazy!
Why did the Saxons bury all those valuable objects together in that field? Were they the spoils of war or offerings to the gods? There are lots of theories but the real reason remains a mystery.
The Staffordshire hoard gave me the idea for the Carrickstowe hoard – the priceless Saxon treasure that is stolen in The Mystery of the Whistling Caves (If you look at the map of Castle Key, you'll see that Carrickstowe is the name of the nearest town on the mainland).
I scaled my hoard down from 3,5000 objects to just three - the King's Sword, The Chieftan's Shield and The Ceremonial Helmet. I used my imagination and the real Saxon objects I've seen in museums and in pictures to come up with the descriptions. (Do you recognise the helmet that Emily is holding in the picture? It's based on the one that was found at another famous Saxon site, the Sutton Hoo ship burial).
So, the metal detector found even more than five kilos of Saxon gold that day in a muddy field – it found a story for me, and the very first investigation for Scott, Jack, Emily and Drift!
Do you know of any exciting finds that have been made in the area where you live? Or have you been lucky enough to find some treasure yourself? Perhaps it could inspire a story for you, too?
Operation Diamond
There's a mystery to crack and the prize is to be in with a chance of starring in Helen Moss's next Adventure Series book. The first clue is below and all the details you need to enter to competition on the Adventure Island Books website.
Question 1: Who found the real Staffordshire Hoard in a field in 2009?
The Saxons (F)
Terry Herbert (Y)
For the next installment of Helen Moss's blog, and your next clue, visit:
www.ReadingZone.com on Tuesday 22 May
Figures obtained under the Freedom of Information Act provide a unique insight into changing patterns of drug use at British music festivals
On the Isle of Wight it's been largely about cocaine and ecstasy, at Glastonbury the hauls of Ketamine have been creeping up, while the drug of choice for heavy metal fans would seem to be Jack Daniels and other booze.
As a tens of thousands of young (and not so young) music fans await another festival season, new figures based on police activities at 10 major festivals over the past four years provide an insight into the range and scale of drugs seized.
They show that seizures of popular drugs such as cannabis and ecastasy have been in decline, possibly due factors such as changing behaviour, demographics and policing priorities.
Cocaine seizures have been in sharp decline since the onset of the economic hard times, and there is some evidence to back up suggestions that recreational drug users have been turning to relatively cheaper drugs like Ketamine, the horse tranquilliser dubbed the 'new ecstasy'.
Individual events also meanwhile display particular characteristics when it comes to the type of drugs seized.
The lion's share of cocaine seizures last year took place at the Isle of Wight festival and the island's other big musical event, Bestival, where 50,000 people enjoyed an eclectic mix of rock, folk and dance.
The two festivals also stood out from the others in terms of ecstasy seizures, accounting for nearly half of the value of all drugs seized at Bestival last year.
By contrast, drug seizures were almost non-existant at the Womad (World of Music, Arts and Dance), often regarded as the festival of choice for a stereotypically Guardian-reading, older music fan. Last year, the only drugs confiscated in swoops by Wiltshire Police was cannabis with a street value of £151.
Expectations that rock fans meanwhile might be prone to emulating some of their harder living idols are also somewhat confounded. Seizures were comparatively low at the two festivals catering for them - the Download festival in Leicestershire and Sonisphere at Knebworth House, Hertfordshire.
At Sonisphere, where 190,000 fans last year moshed along to bands including Motorhead and Slipknot, just over £400 of drugs was seized across the weekend. It was mostly cannabis, with cocaine making up the balance. Ecstasy and amphetamines were absent.
At the country's best known gathering of music lovers, where Glastonbury organisor Michael Eavis last year said that the drug culture "had changed beyond belief" and that it was "a cheek to even suggest there's a problem", more than £200,000 worth of drugs has been seized by police over the past four years.
Last year's haul of more than £44,000 was a rise of 12% on the previous year although, like other festivals where larger quanties of drugs have been confiscated, seizures are considerably down on 2009's relative high.
Across all ten festivals - Glastonbury, V, the Isle of Wight, Bestival, Download, Sonisphere, Leeds, Reading, Womad and Wireless- there has been a sharp decline since that year in the value both of cocaine and cannabis seized, according to the figures obtained through a series of Freedom of Information requests by Request Initiative, a nonprofit that makes requests for charities and NGOs.
The graphics below show total street values of drugs seized in 2011, with figures broken down by substance and festival.
Just over £21,000 worth of cocaine was seized last year, compared to £88,000 in 2009, while the street value of confiscated cannabis last year was also down more than 75%.
The biggest proportional increase saw confiscations of piperazine, or BZP, increase in value tenfold over the same period, though last year's total still amounted to less than half of those for each of cannabis, cocaine and ecstasy.
Other potential trends include the emergence of Ketamine, identified in the past as the fastest growing "party drug" among 16-24 year olds. The festival where the largest amount's worth of the drug (£8,277) was confiscated last year was Glastonbury, where the amounts have been creeping up.
The figures are low for the Wireless festival, where drug confiscations were conducted by private security and police present did not collect data relating to confiscations.
Drug charities cautioned against using the figures as an indicator about general drug use, suggesting that seizures depend on many other variables, ranging from police priorities to the weather.
However, Rupert George of the drugs charity Release, said the figures seemed to reflect the changing demographics of festival goers and the shift to an older crowd less likely to be taking drugs.
"Festivals have tended to become more expensive, corporate and mainstream with older more middle class crowds that probably attract far less intensive policing. The policing of drug possession tends to be disproportionately targeted at the young, the poor and people from ethnic minorities. Festival crowds probably no longer fit this profile."
David Raynes of National Drug Prevention Alliance said cultural changes had brought about a situation where people are prepared to put almost anything into their bodies.
Adding that the drugs supply at festivals was not predictable, he said: "I am not sure that Policing generally makes the effort it once did, say 40 years ago, to detect drug dealers at festivals. I have never heard it spoken of as a priority. They will of course expect to come across drugs and as I recall there have been some high profile deaths."
Raynes also referred to the ageing profile of festival goers, adding that may not have entirely given up on past habits and may well be much more more likely to use drugs than the wider population.
Brendan Montague, executive director of Request Initiative said: "This is the first major research project providing empirical evidence showing the extent and nature of drug taking at national music festivals in the UK and shows that Class A drugs including cocaine and MDMA are still very popular among music fans."
"There has also been a significant shift from cocaine which is expensive to the cheaper drug Ketamine as the country has been in and out of recession."
For more information on how the information obtained and to explore the data in full, see our explanatory Datablog post.
Ben QuinnJohn Burn-Murdoch
After peaking in 2009, seizures of drugs at UK music festivals have fallen rapidly. Find out where the figures came from and explore the data in full.
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Quantities of drugs seized at music festivals across the UK have declined significantly over the last three years, according to figures released under the Freedom of Information Act.
The data, which covers festivals taking place over four years - from 2008 to 2011 - shows drug confiscations peaking in 2009 but falling away rapidly in the years since.
Between 2009 and 2011 seizures of cannabis, cocaine and ecstasy all fell by over 65% and the total for all substances dropped by a similar margin - from £288,420 to £101682.
The chart below shows trends in the total street values of all drugs seized at each festival. It is worth noting that the Leeds and Wireless festivals were privately stewarded.
The second chart shows annual totals broken down by substance rather than festival. Data was only plotted for the eight most seized drugs in order to show the trend for each substance as clearly as possible.
The different trends and possible reasons behind them are covered in greater detail in our accompanying news story, which you can find here.
The figures behind the headline were calculated using data obtained under the Freedom of Information Act, via the Request Initiative, a nonprofit organisation that makes requests for charities and NGOs.
Raw data for the quantities of each drug seized came in a variety of units including grams, tablets and wraps. Where available, street values for the various different substances and units came either from police forces or the drug advice website talktofrank.com.
In rare cases where such information was not available, analysts at the Requests Initiative used informed estimates, having contacted the Home Office, the Department of Health and various drug rehabilitation centres.
Where figures for one festival were described simply as "Class A" or "Class B", for example, total street values were calculated using a conversion rate of £50 per gram and £7 per gram respectively. Similarly, "unknown" pills and grams were priced at £7 and £10 each.
As well as the data summary below, you can find and explore the full spreadsheet here. In addition to quantities of drugs, you will also find figures for police presences and last year's festival attendances.
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A song-and-dance show about obesity and mental illness? Epidemic could pull in big audiences – and improve their health
In a chilly, high-windowed room, a young man is being pursued by four black dogs. They circle him, ready to pounce; he runs among them, attaching leads to them and strains to pull them to heel. Eventually, the dogs manage to get away; the man watches them go, stumbling, exhausted. The room echoes with the sound of applause.
Welcome to the world of Epidemic – a community musical produced by Old Vic New Voices, the education and outreach arm of London's Old Vic Theatre. In each of the past three years the company has put together a major new show, performed and stage-managed entirely by volunteers from across London, and written to reflect concerns raised by the local community.
If that sounds rather worthy, it isn't. Epidemic has bravely taken two key public health issues as its central themes – obesity and mental health – weaving them into a Technicolor tale that is both serious and exuberantly over-the-top.
The main character is Marlon Huxley, whose psychotic depression is giving him disturbing hallucinations (the black dogs, played by dancers). When he hijacks a mobility bus, he makes unlikely allies of Iris, an elderly woman trying to avoid being put in a home; and Lawrence, a morbidly obese man fed up with being nannied by his carers. As the trio make their bid for freedom, sensationalist newspaper headlines and tweets (#busnutter) track their every move.
Joey Ellis – a 24-year-old drama-school graduate, and one of just a handful of professional actors in the cast – plays Marlon. Taking part in the production has, he tells me during a break in rehearsals, been a real eye-opener. "Before, I was completely ignorant about mental health. Now, I've learned something about what it's like to have a mental illness – and it certainly isn't easy."
The show's writers, Suzy Davies and Morgan Lloyd Malcolm, and producers have been scrupulous about their research: health professionals have been consulted, and the show has the backing of the Wellcome Trust. But they actually arrived at the show's public health theme quite by accident.
"We spent a year talking to people, going from pensioners' rice-and-peas mornings to Zumba classes," says Steve Winter, director of Old Vic New Voices. "I started out with an idea about the 'epidemic of opinion': that every day my email inbox is filled with opinions on things people don't necessarily know much about. From there, overwhelmingly, our discussions turned to health, and obesity and mental health in particular. There was a perception that these two issues have reached epidemic proportions."
Dr Thomas Kabir, a research coordinator at the Institute of Psychiatry, addressed a debate organised by Old Vic New Voices at the Wellcome Trust during the show's gestation period. He believes this perception of an epidemic is rooted in fact. "There's a lot of evidence," he says, "that in the current economic climate, more and more people are experiencing mental health problems, and often they're going untreated. A show like this, which allows people to confront the issue face-to-face rather than just reading or hearing about it, can have a big role to play in addressing the problem."
Public information is a key aim of the show, and operates on two levels: by encouraging audiences to think about these health issues; and by enhancing the cast and crew's own understanding of their health, through workshops and discussions. Nutritionist Jo Lewin ran a healthy-eating seminar during rehearsals, and participants are encouraged to share their own experiences of mental illness and obesity.
Becky Brown, a 25-year-old bio-ethics PhD student and volunteer stage manager, thinks Epidemic is succeeding on both fronts. "At first, a musical about health seemed really bonkers," she says. "But there's only so much that people take away from the usual public health campaigns. I'm not saying this is a completely accurate portrayal of what it's like to live with mental-health issues or obesity, but it's a humanising one."
None of this comes, however, at the expense of hard work, commitment and, above all, fun: the rehearsal I watch, if still wobbly in places, is pretty slick, and the show's big numbers (covering everything from unhelpful media sensationalism in reporting mental health, to an Italian-style ballad about Lawrence's love affair with fattening food) are performed with infectious enthusiasm.
For Winter, if the show encourages just one person to confront health problems that they were previously too afraid to tackle, then all the hard work and enthusiasm will have paid off.
"During rehearsals, we've been talking about wellbeing," he says. "A lot of people said they hadn't thought about it much before. We want people taking part to feel healthier; to have greater self-esteem. As for audiences – if they do recognise any of the health problems they see on stage, I hope they will be inspired to go and seek help."
• Epidemic is at the Old Vic Tunnels, London SE1, until 27 May. Tickets are free, but must be booked at oldvictunnels.com
Laura Barnett
There needs to be more attention paid to young people moving back home – but this slightly preposterous movie doesn't count
I've spent eight years researching the relationships parents have with their children once they're adults. That's the topic considered in this film: 30-year-old Jeff (Jason Segel) is still living at home with his mother Sharon (Susan Sarandon), who worries about the fact that he smokes a lot of dope and won't get a job.
It's incredible, really, that so little academic research has been conducted into the growing phenomenon of young people moving back home. I call it "second-phase parenting" and, in my job, I see many such families who are looking for guidance. In one case, a son living at home had been sacked from his job after testing positive for drugs. His parents didn't even know he was a user.
The media paints an endlessly negative picture, calling them the "boomerang generation" and implying that the parents should really just throw them out. That's very much the view taken by Sharon. "Get your ass off that couch," she says to Jeff, "or find somewhere else to live."
If Jeff and his mother came to see me, I would say that what they really need to work on is not making Jeff get a job or move out, but on Sharon's under-negotiated relationship with her sons: she has to learn to accept them as adults. I don't subscribe to the blame culture that implies such children are somehow failures. If your relationship with your family is good, why shouldn't you live with them? The key thing, however, is for parents to move into second-phase parenting, to enjoy their adult children, rather than treat them as if they're in an extended adolescence – which is exactly what's happening here.
I would have liked to see a fuller depiction of the family's relationships: the script was quite thin, and elements of the plot verged on the preposterous. I won't give away the ending, but let's just say that Jeff gets to prove that he's loving and protective. Perhaps he and Sharon will learn to live together as adults after all.
• Dr Myrna Gower is a research fellow at Royal Holloway, University of London
Laura Barnett
British readers worried that US bestselling novel The Art of Fielding is purely about baseball can allay their fears. The sport is in the book to focus on the hero's very public crisis, says the author
The Art of Fielding, Chad Harbach's debut novel of love, doubt and college baseball, sailed into the UK earlier this year on a wave of hype. The book tracks the arc of poetic shortstop Henry Skrimshander's career at Westish, a fictional liberal arts university on the shores of Lake Michigan: his dizzying ascent to tie the National Collegiate Athletic Association NCAA record for consecutive errorless games; the moment he misfires a throw and finds he can fail; the subsequent awakening of self-awareness that sends him on a screeching slide from grace. Published last autumn in the US, it met with ecstatic reviews, pantheonic comparisons with everyone from Jonathan Franzen to Don DeLillo, and in December it waltzed away with the top slot in the New York Times's 10 best books of 2011. The British literary world was on tenterhooks, and it is at last available in paberback in the UK.
So far, so familiar. Every year or so the transatlantic publicity machine cranks into overdrive, and everyone in the UK is briefly convulsed by rumours of the next big thing from across the water, before the dust settles and we all go back to what we were doing. The difference this time is that The Art of Fielding is every bit as good as billed. A big, beautiful blowout of a book, sure and generous, it reads like a throwback to the mid-20th century, when American literature was in its pomp. Henry's story is a work of rich psychological realism in the grand tradition, gaining pitch and heft from a meaty supporting cast, a resonant campus setting and a thicket of literary references. If we're not quite looking at Philip Roth's replacement – the novel, in the final analysis, is too affable and lacks the nerve of the truly great book to haul its readers over the coals – this is nevertheless an exceptional debut. And its author – in his mid-30s, with most of his writing life in front of him – may well yet step up to the plate.
It's a surprise, then, how self-effacing Harbach is in the flesh. Neat and diffident in a button-down shirt and navy blazer, visually he is hard to get a fix on, and for the first 20 minutes or so of our interview, the same proves true in conversation. When I put to him that I imagine he will have heard countless times, he blinks politely and bats them away with a faintly puzzled air. Did the book have a complicated genesis, I ask (it did; his friend Keith Gessen has published an ebook detailing the problems of its publication). Oh no, he insists; in a way the genesis was very simple: aged 24, he had the idea and started writing. What about its status as a Great American Novel? Surely, given the book's obsession with the American canon (Whitman, Emerson and particularly Melville, whom Harbach casts explicitly as its presiding genius), he must have given the question some thought? But he shrugs, smiles, shakes his head. "It's a common phrase, but it's never quite clear what people mean by it. 'What's the Great American novel?' It's like asking: 'What's the meaning of life?' And who cares what the meaning of life is, right?" This, from the man whose novel offers a definition of the human condition ("basically, that we're alive and have access to beauty, can even erratically create it, but will someday be dead and will not").
In the end, it's not until we move on to his parallel career as co-editor of the successful internet magazine n+1 that Harbach loosens up. If the novel itself shows no mark of the rookie, this moment in the interview, rather endearingly, does: he is transparently more comfortable talking about a joint endeavour (Harbach founded the magazine in 2004 with four others, including Gessen), and visibly relaxes, speech settling into the easy, yarn-spinning rhythm that makes his written sentences so lovely. The name, he explains, was his: "It started as a sort of joke. Right from when we graduated, Keith and I had always had an imaginary magazine; even though we weren't doing anything about starting it, we'd have these really intense discussions about it. And one day Keith called me up, very distressed. He was like: 'Now McSweeney's is getting going, and there are all these magazines out there – we've missed our moment!' And I was just, like, 'n+1', meaning, however many magazines there are, we find them all unsatisfying in some way. There's always going to be room for the one that does what we want."
Someone setting out to write a debut novel might similarly have glanced at the outfield of US literature, crowded as it is with baseball books, and decided there wasn't room for another, but again, not Harbach. Was he unsatisfied by the baseball novels that had come before? Is The Art of Fielding n+1?
"Well, maybe," he grins. "There's certainly a large literature around baseball in the US. American history and the history of baseball are bound up together: our racial politics can be described and traced through it. Also, I think writers find it amenable because it's a slow-moving game, pastoral, with a lot of room for contemplation contained inside of it. But at the same time, there aren't many baseball novels I've really loved. The sport just fit the story I wanted to tell. I was interested in watching someone going through a purely psychological crisis in public. Lots of people have those breakdowns, but it's less interesting when you can hide away. For Henry, anyone who wants to can come and watch him fall apart. No one had written fiction about that; it seemed a very good start to something."
And where do you go, after a start like that? "I'm kind of feeling around," he admits. "I'm such a different person now than I was when I began The Art of Fielding. It's quite a feeling to finish something you have been 10 years beholden to, and to have a clean slate." I can't be alone in dying to see what he'll write on it.
Sarah Crown
He made his name playing criminals and low-lifes – now Tim Roth is back as the nicest father in town. Catherine Shoard meets him in Cannes to talk films, politics and bringing up his own teenagers
When Clarice Starling is first assigned to interview Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs, we are told, in Thomas Harris's novel, that "a brief silence follows the name, always, in any civilised gathering". Something similar happens when you say you're off to interview Tim Roth. A light gasp, a small step back. Roth – who was set to play the younger Lecter in 2002's Red Dragon, until Anthony Hopkins dyed his hair and reprised the role – has a reputation for being slippery. He just doesn't give, I'm told. Meet him in California, people caution, and he clams up. Get an audience in London and he is prickly, defensive.
So why is it that in Cannes, at least, he couldn't be sweeter? Roth is warm and friendly; he has the guttural chuckle of an ageing rocker. Cannes makes him happy. Here there are no particular national- or class-based expectations. He doesn't have to be the scrappy skinhead of Alan Clarke's Made in Britain (1982) or Stephen Frears's The Hit (1984) – although he will admit to hamming it up off-screen at the start of his career, in order to fit such parts. It doesn't matter that he is, in fact, the relatively affluent son of a journalist; his father changed the family name from Smith to Roth in 1944, an act of anti-Nazi solidarity ("I get invited to an awful lot of Jewish functions," Roth says).
In Cannes, he is simply a cineaste, and a Croisette staple of 20 years standing. Roth has made a splash here as an actor, with Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, and as a director, with The War Zone, in 1999. This year he is president of the judging panel for the festival's Un Certain Regard competition. His new film, Broken, by first-time director Rufus Norris, was weepily received at its premiere the night before we meet.
There is another reason: for nearly a week, France has been officially socialist. "I think before the bubble bursts we should enjoy the notion," Roth says. "I think that just the word – socialism – is good for a while. It's the thing Obama is always being accused of by Fox News. If only! So, just for a second, it's nice to feel that Hollande might deliver on a couple of his promises."
He is disenchanted with British politics. "I'm sick of voting for the lesser arsehole." Roth lives between California and London, and the last time he voted, "I just looked around to see who wanted to do a proper job, rather than someone who wanted to bang the secretary. And also, I have to say, the whole God thing is starting to really piss me off. Blair's Christianity made me angry, and New Labour was a joke. I'm not sure if I'll vote for the new child who has taken over, because I wouldn't know how I'd be able to figure out if he was Cameron or not. They're all starting to look the same, these boardroom guys. They don't represent us, the country. They represent business and corporate wealth and greed and guns. They don't deserve our vote, any of them."
Those who might, Roth thinks, include the Green party (which he supported in the recent local elections), Tony Benn and, more surprisingly, George Galloway. "Maybe he will be something. He's definitely a smooth talker. Sometimes I like what he says." I'm quizzical. He pauses, then goes for a semi non-sequitur. "My dad was a Communist Party member who fought for his country. And I just don't think we lived up to his expectations."
Roth's new film, Broken, is about having the courage to seize one's personal and social responsibilities. It's the story of 11-year-old Skunk, a tomboyish schoolgirl who witnesses the assault of a man with learning difficulties by a widowed father; she is under the mistaken impression that this father has raped one of his three daughters. Skunk has an absent mother, too, who left her, her brother and her solicitor father Archie (Roth) shortly after Skunk's birth.
Seen alongside the other British films screening at Cannes this year (Ben Wheatley's homicidal caravan yarn Sightseers; Ken Loach's whisky heist The Angels' Share), you could draw some fairly bleak conclusions about the state of the nation. But Roth is eager to focus instead on what Broken has to say about more universal family concerns. As Archie, he is the film's moral centre: irreproachably well-intentioned, verging on the weak. It is Roth's most mild-mannered role in years; did he think Archie was too passive? "I prefer gentle. He's just a good man; I really rather love him."
Broken's plot turns on a broken mobile phone, but otherwise presents a world where technology is curiously absent. New media has exacerbated age-old parenting problems, Roth thinks. "Because it's not new anymore, and that's a gateway to potentially horrendous aspects of the world. You can give your experience only up to a point. And now it's just sweeping across the planet."
What's the effect? "A different kind of innocence. I think that happened with the advent of TV and that was only a few years ago, really. Cellphones have changed the world. I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing, [but] it's scary." He brightens, and gives one of those half-maniacal laughs. "But then we won't be around for too long, anyway. And the next generation will be scared about something else."
Roth has three sons – two teenagers with his wife, fashion designer Nikki Butler, and 28-year-old Jack from a previous relationship. On and off-screen, he has an easy rapport with Eloise Laurence, who plays Skunk ("She calls me her other dad. So does her dad"). Alongside Norris and Damon Albarn, who composed the film's soundtrack, and who both have children of a similar age, Roth formed a "creatively concerned parents' collective … it was like being a family on set, a ridiculously close experience. You hear that so many times about working on a film, and mostly it's not true."
He is now struggling with the fact his own children are growing up. "They don't need me the way I want them to. They're breaking all those bonds, and it's quite disturbing and saddening. This trying to handle their next part of the journey. And they're doing a bloody good job of it, all of them. It's magnificent, but it's difficult. It's so hard not to be loved in the way that they loved you when they were little."
For Roth, family relations and how well you handle them seem to be key. He returns to the subject of politics, putting it within the context of family. The think he likes most about Obama, for instance, is that he's married to Michelle. "I think he's a bit of a Republican. We're still in two wars, and he's only just come round to the notion of gay marriage. I don't quite understand what the fuss is about. I think he's very good on telly. But I think the fact he has a woman who seems to be as strong and as good as that is possibly a reason to vote for him. I do sense there's a good heart there."
You sense there's a good heart in Roth, too. "Good luck, darlin'!" is his chipper farewell –and Hannibal Lecter never said goodbye to Clarice like that.
Catherine Shoard
Chelsea Flower Show 2012 | Love Shaft | Gok Cooks Chinese | The Fall Of Singapore: The Great Betrayal | Game Of Thrones | American Experience: New York
Chelsea Flower Show 2012Inevitably there's a diamond jubilee angle in the BBC's coverage, which runs throughout the week. With the Queen scheduled to visit, assorted horticulturalists have been contriving floral tributes. Nicki Chapman and Toby Buckland will meet some of these, and florist Simon Lycett will produce a homage to Constance Spry, who did the flowers at the coronation. In a later instalment, Alan Titchmarsh meets a public figure who rivals Elizabeth II for indefatigability: Cliff Richard. Andrew Mueller
Love ShaftThis new series promises to take speed dating to a whole new level (the basement, perhaps?) Contestants meet prospective partners as they make their way up to a luxury penthouse bar. Each time the door opens, a singleton will present themselves. But as they reach the next floor, they must choose whether to stick with the partner or turf them out to make way for a new one. In between floors, they get to know each other by playing ice-breaking games. When they reach the penthouse, a further dilemma ensues – do suitors accept their date or gamble for a cash prize instead? Modern romance indeed – or maybe 'twas ever thus. Will Best presents. David Stubbs
Gok Cooks ChineseChannel 4 has spotted a gap in the cooking show market. Yes, apparently somewhere between fish crusades and lad-mag brunching we really do need a new premise. Granted, a modern Chinese cooking show is an appealing idea, but does Gok Wan really need any more work? In the first of the six-part series Wan applies his signature "You can do it, babes" approach to Cantonese cuisine. Somewhere in among the irksome Papa Wan nostalgia and shoe/food comparisons there are some tasty-looking recipes. Clare Considine
The Fall Of Singapore: The Great BetrayalA documentary that tells the story of 12 catastrophic weeks in the Pacific theatre of the second world war. This isn't only an exploration of the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor, which forced the US into the war, or of the battle of Singapore, during which 80,000 allied soldiers became prisoners of war. Instrumental in these events – argues this piece – was the treasonous flow of information from British personnel to the Japanese command. John Robinson
Game Of ThronesAfter a strong start, this season of Game Of Thrones has meandered slightly, with some storylines – Daenerys in Qarth, Jon Snow in, well, the snow – seeming curiously flat. But a recent near-revolution in King's Landing changed the pace and it feels thrilling once again. Tonight, Robb Stark discovers a betrayal. Rebecca Nicholson
American Experience: New YorkCuriously dry epic documentary about New York's 400-year history, showing in sequence every day this week. We start with the city's beginnings. It's 1609 and Henry Hudson has just discovered it while trying to find China. Then we swoosh up the Hudson river towards the Manhattan we know today. It's built on the efforts of a bunch of money-hungry Dutch men flogging animal pelts for profit. New Amsterdam was, says one commenter, where modern capitalism was invented. Historians, folklorists and writers chip in with a bit of colour but there's an intimidating 14 and a half hours to get through. Julia Raeside
Andrew MuellerDavid StubbsClare ConsidineJohn RobinsonRebecca NicholsonJulia Raeside
When Guy Browning wanted to make a film, he got the whole of the Oxfordshire village of Kingston Bagpuize to help – as financiers, extras and even stars
Snow lay thick over the little village of Kingston Bagpuize in Oxfordshire when the fateful decision was made to produce a feature-length romantic comedy and take it all the way to Leicester Square. Three years later, 800 villagers are about to walk up the red carpet to see Tortoise in Love have its premiere this Thursday.
When I finished the last of my regular columns in the Guardian, I set myself the challenge of making a movie. The script was written. A gardener in the big house falls in love but is agonisingly slow to make a move. So the whole village gets together to speed things up.
That's the plot, but it's also how the film was made. It was too late to work my way up from the bottom of the film industry, so I decided to get my entire village involved instead. Safety in numbers. We live in a picturesque setting with a beautiful stately home and, most importantly, there is a hardcore group of inhabitants who will say yes to foolish ideas before they have any notion of the consequences.
Many roles in the film were based on villagers who then auditioned. There were a few tricky moments when some were told that they weren't good enough to play themselves, but it didn't stop everyone coughing up anything from £10 to £1,000 to pay for a professional crew, who I then directed.
The local WI did the catering for 60 people during a six-week period, with one lady baking more than 1,000 fairy cakes. There was an early wobble when the film crew said they wouldn't start their days without bacon butties; a pig was chosen, crisis averted. To keep the budget down, those who weren't locals stayed with families in the village. It wasn't quite what they were used to, but two marriages and one pregnancy later, it all seems to have worked out fine. Eventually we got the film in the can and everyone is still speaking. It's the kind of happy ending Hollywood would be proud of.
Guy Browning
The Beat writer's masterpiece On the Road has been made into a film. But why has it taken 55 years to get it on to the screen?
Age: Died in 1969, aged 47.
Appearance: Dead Beat.
Who was he? A leading novelist and poet of the Beat Generation.
Oh right. That explains "Dead Beat". Yep.
Very funny. Thanks.
And why are we talking about him now? His novel On the Road has finally made it to the big screen.
The one about all the road trips? The semi-autobiographical one in which Kerouac – under the pseudonym Sal Paradise – drives across America and later Mexico with his new friend Dean Moriarty – a pseudonym for fellow Beat figure Neal Cassady – on a hedonistic quest for identity, freedom and some form of lasting happiness.
Didn't he write it all in just three weeks on a single long roll of paper? He did, in 1951, or so the story goes, although he then spent six years rejigging it before it was published in 1957.
That's a long wait. Not compared to the wait for the film, which began with a letter from Kerouac to Marlon Brando in 1957 begging the film star to buy up the rights, and is only just coming to an end this week, with the premiere at Cannes on Wednesday.
What's taken so long? Well, for one thing, Brando didn't reply. For another, the novel's free-wheeling narrative has taken decades to condense into a nice, neat film story. For a third, an unknown called Kristen Stewart was cast as Marylou five years ago, and her career has sort of gone a bit stratospheric in the interim.
Ooh, Kristen Stewart's in it? Yep. As well as Amy Adams, Viggo Mortensen, Elizabeth Moss, Kirsten Dunst and Sam Riley.
Well, why didn't you just say that earlier, instead of going on about this Caramac guy? It's Kerouac.
Whatevs. I'm booking tickets to the UK premiere at Somerset House as we speak. Too late. They went on sale on Friday at 10am and people snapped up every one in just five minutes.
Aww! They "beat" me to it! Hilarious. You could always go read the original. The first nine metres of it are on display in Paris for the next three months.
As a rule I don't read books that are measured in metres. Probably wise.
Do say: "You wait 55 years for a film of On the Road..."
Don't say: "... and then they go and cast the girl from Twilight."
It's as good as superhero films are ever likely to get, which is excellent news because they can stop making them now
Last Monday, because I've been feeling out of the loop, I resolved to catch the new Avengers movie. I call it "the Avengers movie" – in fact, the word "Assemble" was added to the UK release so it wouldn't be confused with the 1960s TV series of the same name. Thus the film I saw was called Marvel Avengers Assemble 3D, which sounds like a badly translated Japanese videogame from the mid-90s. Or something you might oil and push up your arse while wearing a confused look on your face, a bit like civilisation has failed.
No visit to a contemporarymultiplex is complete without a bit of shit being rubbed in your eye right from the start, which happened in my case when the automatic ticket-printing machine spewed a rectangle of air at me instead of a ticket. Pathetically, I looked around for human assistance, only to find a big queue at the box office, where a solitary staff member was gradually processing incoming fleshbags with the joyous gusto of a woman forced to slowly count dust motes in a jail cell forever.
A nearby sign claimed I could purchase tickets from the popcorn counter instead, so I rode the escalator to the brighty-coloured ripoff desk, where another lone staff member had been sentenced to life imprisonment. He called a manager, who spent five minutes trying to retrieve my ticket from an uncaring and uncooperative operating systembefore giving up and commanding the usher to wave me through before the computer found out and had me destroyed.
"Where do I get the 3D glasses?", I asked the usher, who looked at me as though I'd asked whether the film would have colours and shapes in it, before explaining that I'd have to go to a different counter and buy a pair separately for 80p.
When I arrived there, a customer was trying to buy pick-n-mix with a credit card, thus hopelessly crippling the cinema's IT system. I asked the cashier if I could simply put cash in his hand for the glasses, but no. Apologetically, he explained that everything had to go through the computer. So I stood there and waited. Cameron's Britain.
Finally, I entered the auditorium just in time to enjoy an anti-piracy commercial depicting an abandoned cinema wreathed in cobwebs, accompanied by a doomy John Hurt voiceover saying what a shame it would be if all the cinemas closed. Yeah, imagine that. I'd have to approximate the experience by punching myself in the kidneys and eating a £50 note each time I put on a DVD.
Then Marvel Avengers Assemble 3D began. Some scientists were worried about a glowing blue cube they kept underground, so Samuel L Jackson had turned up to make things easier by shouting at them. Then the cube went bonkers and spat out a bad guy called Loki, who looks like a cross between Withnail and the sort of grinning pervert who'd have sex with a fistful of Mattesson's liver pate in the window of an apartment overlooking a hospice bus stop. Then some vehicles raced around and everything blew up.
Then Samuel L Jackson gathered some superheroes together on a sort of impossible flying aircraft carrier, and they spent some time mocking each other's costumes in a post-modern fashion before Loki's henchmen arrived and everything blew up again. Then they all went to New York and some aliens in hovering chariots flew through a hole in the sky and everything blew up for the third and final time. And then, because the Avengers had won, the film decided to end.
Despite being almost completely incoherent, it's enjoyable bibble, and as good as superhero films are ever likely to get, which is excellent news because it means they can stop making them now. Seriously, they needn't bother releasing Batman Bum Attack or whatever the next one's called, because it won't be as good as Marvel Avengers Assemble 3D. Finally we can move on, as a species.
Still, entertained though I was, I did find myself occasionally checking emails: a first for me in a cinema, and surprising when you consider the amount of spectacle on display. It's like watching buildings and cars and girders and fighter jets endlessly smashing around inside a gigantic washing machine for two hours, interspersed with wisecracks. That's what mesmerises humans, just as surely as cats are fascinated by bits of string being pulled across the carpet. Up to a point, anyway. Once you've seen 10,000 cars exploding, you've seen them all. I rapidly succumbed to spectacle fatigue.
Marvel Avengers Assemble 3D cost $220m to make and is 143 minutes long, so whenever I glanced at my phone for one second, I missed $25,641 worth of entertainment. As an aside, I bet you could find someone prepared to shoot a stranger dead on camera for $25,641. What if you paid that person $220m to shoot 8,580 strangers dead on camera – that's one per second – and then while you were watching the footage afterwards, in your lair, your phone beeped and you glanced at it for five seconds and didn't notice all five members of One Direction taking a bullet? You'd miss out on a real cultural talking point.
Finally – and this is an odd accusation to level at a superhero film – it didn't feel very real. I reckon only about 8% of what was on screen was actually there. The rest was imagined by computers. And please, leery tragi-men, don't dribble on about "Scarlett Johansson's arse in 3D" being "worth the price of admission". The film was shot in 2D and converted to 3D using software, which means you're actually drooling over a 2D image of Scarlett Johansson's arse wrapped around a wireframe model of an arse that isn't there. You're sitting in front of HAL 9000, jerking off like a monkey. Somewhere, the machines are laughing at you.
Charlie Brooker
Hackney Empire, London
[www.stephenlowe.co.uk] title="">Stephen Lowe first adapted Robert Tressell's socialist novel for the Joint Stock Theatre Company in 1978; a year later he published a story detailing the play's evolution from a cast outing to the seaside, replicating an event in the book, at which the actors drifted between playing their characters and being themselves. A similar spirit is communicated by South Africa's Isango Ensemble, beloved here for their exuberant version of The Mysteries, in this new production by Mark Dornford-May. The men in the paint factory work a little, sing a little, and skip in and out of English as they argue and banter. Their unhurried performances feel close-to-the-heart real.
The downside to this is that every gear change in the plot feels clunky in execution, as though the actors are jolted into realising that they are telling a story, not living it. Still, there aren't many such shifts: Lowe cuts to the core of Tressell's novel and argument. A key scene from the book, in which the workings of capitalism are demonstrated using slices of bread, is winningly played: you almost see lightbulbs ping as the workers comprehend why Solomon the socialist argues, "money is the main cause of poverty". Shifting the action to 1950s Cape Town, Dornford-May traps the characters in oppression, capitalism and colonialism, within which their chief defence against "whitey" absurdity is resigned mockery.
Possibly to its detriment, the production never shies away from directly lecturing. But it also demonstrates incisive theatricality. At the seaside outing, Mr Hunter, the company manager, conducts the choir, and the singers obey every flail of his arm, no matter how pointless. As a metaphor for capitalist misuses of labour, it's subtly eloquent.
Rating: 3/5
Maddy Costa
Wigmore Hall, London
Now in her late 30s, the Czech mezzo Magdalena Kožená's voice is changing, growing in size and power, though losing some of its surface beauty in the process. In this lengthy and varied programme encompassing Mahler, Debussy and Messiaen, there were recurring problems higher up, with her tone hardening and occasionally developing a strident quality, though her middle register retained its freshness and warmth.
But Kožená was not always able to manage her increased sound without sacrificing subtleties along the way. The intimacy of Debussy's Chansons de Bilitis and Ariettes Oubliées, with their admissions of love and remembrances of evanescent emotion, was too often inundated with tone, extinguishing the delicacy of their texts and their minutely observed feelings. Messiaen's second book of Poèmes pour Mi went better, the individual songs' self-dramatised rhetoric more suited to Kožená's broad-brush-stroke approach.
The evening's real musical distinction belonged to the pianist, Mitsuko Uchida. Ironically, much of her material – the Messiaen group, the two songs sampled from Mahler's Des Knaben Wunderhorn, and all but one of his Five Rückert Lieder – is better known in its respective composers' own orchestrations. (Max Puttmann orchestrated Mahler's Liebst du um Schönheit.) Performing these songs on the piano often involves the near-impossible task of bringing out colours more fully explored in their orchestral versions; Mahler's own piano writing can sound ineffective.
Yet Uchida made it sound surprisingly idiomatic. Her infinitesimal attention to nuanced colours and textures in the Debussy was even more special – though admittedly his piano writing works, however difficult it may be to realise. Throughout she was fully supportive of her vocal partner, and seemed considerably more relaxed.
Rating: 3/5
George Hall
City Hall, Newcastle
With a back catalogue as labyrinthine as Costello's, the act of choosing a set list must be arduous and baffling. Hence the "Spinning Songbook", whereby a fairground-style wheel containing the names of 40 songs is spun by members of the audience, who then dance to their chance selections in a cage, occasionally alongside a red-booted go-go dancer.
Any suspicions the wheel may be rigged are banished after it throws up Harry Worth, from 2008's Momofuku album. Costello explains how it traces the fortunes of a couple whose wedding he attended by accident while staying at a hotel in Bradford, and who visited him at gigs for years until they were suddenly no longer speaking to each other. And the next selection? Harry Worth again. "This is about a couple I met in … " begins the chuckling singer, before suggesting another spin.
In a tight-fitting suit, the skinny 57-year old looks eerily like his punk-era incarnation. Any signs of the ageing process are craftily hidden under a straw boater, and he is clearly revelling in a less familiar role as fairground-style compere. During a dub Watching the Detectives, he emerges on the balcony to drag down a spinner/victim and doesn't miss the opportunity to quip that the cane he brandishes is "a scale model of Rupert Murdoch's head on a pike".
But the wheel allows him to explore the full panoply of his songbook and every emotion, from country-style regret (Good Year for the Roses to uncomfortable home-truths (Deep Dark Thoughtful Mirror). A four-song "jackpot" of time-themed songs peaks with a beautifully sung Man Out of Time.
They are all superb songs, beautifully sung, although Costello realizes that a whole set at random could be uneven and hurls in unlisted selections. The songs range from breakneck punk (Radio Radio, Pump It Up) to "rock'n'roll as it was in the 1920s", from recent album National Ransom.
Most rewarding is the return of his political fire. After a beautifully eerie Shipbuilding, he explains that he has revived the anti-Thatcher Tramp the Dirt Down ("a song I never thought I'd sing again") owing to the return of right-wing conservatism, and sings it with brutally unrestrained venom.
Then it's back to Oliver's Army and the rest: a three-hour, 30-song-plus rollercoaster with a human jukebox.
Rating: 4/5
Dave Simpson
O2 Arena, London
Jay-Z and Kanye West are hip-hop's current two main players, and they are pathologically keen to celebrate the fact. Late last year, the pair of multimillionaire American rappers released a joint album, Watch the Throne, whose basic premise was that no upstart rival should attempt even to think about challenging their musical and lyrical magnificence.
The record's commercial performance justified its creators' hype, grabbing a Grammy, topping the US Billboard chart and breaking the iTunes store's one-week sales record. This live tour has proved similarly lucrative, packing arenas around the globe, including five nights in London at the O2.
It may be a self-aggrandising concept, but Watch the Throne is a surprisingly minimalist production. With the exception of a pair of spectacular hydraulic-powered cubes from which the duo sporadically trade rhymes, the night essentially consists of the black-clad Jay-Z and West, side by side on stage, standing or falling on the strength of their verbal dexterity and charisma.
It's the dynamic between these two very different artists that makes the evening so fascinating. Jay-Z, the reformed gangster turned music-industry mogul, has long been a model of ruthless efficiency at turning his linguistic genius into dollars. West is the more gifted producer and musical auteur, yet his tantrums have led even President Obama to bestow on him the less flattering description of a "jackass".
These personae transfer to the stage, where the swaggering Jay-Z, inscrutable and ice-cool behind shades and a baseball cap, appears very much the senior partner. It doesn't help the diminutive West that he has taken the decision to dress head-to-toe in leather: he spends the evening caked in a film of sweat.
Both rappers routinely pen intricate, multilayered rhymes that retain their visceral impact. Who Gon Stop Me finds West comparing the fate of poverty-dwelling black Americans to "the holocaust: millions of our people lost", as Jay-Z settles for braggadocio: "So many watches, I need eight arms."
Both have familiar hits to spare, with West's All of the Lights and Jay-Z's 99 Problems being thrillingly uplifting. But they are best when they come together for Watch the Throne material. On New Day, over a Nina Simone sample, they sit and touchingly worry over the fates that may await their offspring: Jay-Z fears his newborn daughter is fair game for the paparazzi; West hopes any future son escapes his father's public ridicule.
The audacious No Church in the Wild finds Jay-Z casually mulling philosophical delineations between Socrates and Plato, before he and West close with this unique tour's usual coda of five consecutive runs through Niggas in Paris. There have been few lulls in a two-and-a-half-hour set: in a hip-hop world where their nearest challengers are the relatively tame Rick Ross and Drake, Jay-Z and Kanye West are not about to surrender their throne any time soon.
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Rating: 4/5
Ian Gittins
George Szalai
Our critics' picks of this week's openings, plus your last chance to see and what to book now
• Which cultural events are in your diary this week? Tell us in the comments below
Wah! Wah! Girls
British musical meets Bollywood in new love-against-the-odds show set in the East End of London with a cast of 14, almost all British Asians and a Polish handyman. Peacock,London, Thursday to 23 June.
Posh
Laura Wade has updated her Royal Court hit to point the spotlight once again on the Oxbridge dining clubs that spawned the posh boys currently in power. Duke of Yorks theatre, London, until 4 August.
Betrayal
John Simm stars in Harold Pinter's semi-autobiographical play about an adulterous love affair. The power of the piece is that it works backwards from its bitter end to the moment the affair first sparked. Crucible, Sheffield, until 9 June.
The Raid (dir. Gareth Evans)
Brilliant martial arts bulletfest from Indonesia that puts western action movies to shame. Welsh director Evans orchestrates nail-biting sequences. Out now.
The Royal Ballet Ballo Della Regina and La Sylphide
Romantic illusion and virtuosity combine in this double bill of works by George Balanchine and August Bournonville. Royal Opera House, London, in rep from Monday until 15 June.
Emio Greco/PC: Rocco
Dance is reconfigured as a boxing match in this new work from Emio Greco and Pieter C Scholten, inspired by Visconti's film Rocco and His Brothers, about a prostitute who brings trouble to the siblings. Queen Elizabeth Hall, Southbank Centre, London , Tuesday and Wednesday.
Caligula
The British premiere of Detlev Glanert's 2005 opera based upon the play by Albert Camus. Peter Coleman-Wright is the crazed Roman emperor in Benedict Andrews's production for ENO, with Ryan Wigglesworth conducting. Coliseum, London, Friday until 14 June.
Philip Glass at 75
The latest instalment of Glasgow survey of minimalism pays a birthday tribute to one of its founding fathers, including the British premiere of his Sixth Symphony, the Kronos Quartet playing his film score to Bela Lugosi's Dracula, and the man himself giving a solo piano recital. Royal Concert Hall and City Halls, Glasgow (0141-353 8000), Thursday to Saturday.
Arve Henriksen/Trio Mediaeval
Norwegian trumpeter Henriksen has taken the ambiguous, muted sound of Miles Davis as adapted by his fellow-countryman Nils Petter Molvaer, and given it a unique contemporary spin with the help of ingenious electronics, and a world-music perspective that includes study of the ethereal Japanese shakuhachi flute. He lends his inimitable variations to the early-music vocals and plainsong of Trio Mediaeval. Sage, Gateshead, Monday. Then touring.
The Historical Box
Dissident American art created in the aftermath of Vietnam, 1960s performance and the feminist revolution – mangled things and angry things, from a time when art thought it could make a difference. Hauser & Wirth Piccadilly, London, Wednesday to 28 July.
Japandroids
The euphoric rock duo preview forthcoming album Celebration Rock up and down the UK. Cooler, Bristol, tonight. Then touring until 29 May.
Jay-Z and Kanye West
Superstar rappers bring their Watch the Throne collaboration to London as a forerunner for gigs in Manchester, Birmingham and Sheffield next month. 02, London, tonight and tomorrow.
Making Noise Quietly
Robert Holman's exquisite triptych of mini-dramas that explores what it means to be human in a violent world. Just beautiful. Donmar, London, until Saturday.
Breathing (dir. Karl Markovics)
A tremendous social-realist drama from Austria directed by actor-turned-director Markovics. An orphaned teenage criminal tries to discover his mother's identity.
The Flying Dutchman
The end of the first run of ENO's new production, much praised for Edward Gardner's conducting, and for performances by James Cresswell, Orla Boylan and Stuart Skelton. Coliseum, London , until Wednesday.
Lynne Arriale/Benny Golson
Arriale, a quietly forceful Bill Evans-influenced American pianist with a knack for unusual interpretation and evocative composing invites legendary saxist/composer Golson (the bluesy acid-jazz favourite Killer Joe is his) into her regular Convergence Quartet. Ronnie Scott's, London, Tuesday and Wednesday.
Elizabeth Price
Fetishised objects, great music, scenes in galleries – and in a drowned container ship. These are digital video installations with a hardcore hi-tech sheen from the 2012 Turner prize contender. Baltic, Gateshead, until Sunday.
The Horrors
Southend-on-Sea's post-punkers conclude the UK leg of their seemingly endless world tour. Brixton Academy, Friday.
Fuerza Bruta
Return of the rave show from the people who brought us the legendary De La Guarda. This isn't in the same league, but if you're looking for excitement and sensation, this shouldn't disappoint.Roundhouse, London, 27 December to 26 January.
Ben Hur
An impossible feat: a stage version of the epic novel featuring sea battles, Roman orgies and chariot-racing, all on a stage the size of a postage stamp. A cast of four play 12,059 characters! Should be fun. Watermill, Newbury (01635 46044), 22 June to 28 July
Flawless and English National Ballet: Time Is of the Essence
Ballet, street dance and acrobatics test out their mutual chemistry in this new collaboration choreographed by Marlon Wallen and Jenna Lee. HMV Hammersmith Apollo, London, , 1-2 JuneThen touring.
Spitalfields summer festival
This year's associate artists are the Gabrieli Consort and Players, cellist Matthew Barley and composer Talvin Singh; plus there's a wide range of choral music, from the renaissance to the present day, with new works from Alec Roth, Huw Watkins and Nicola LeFanu. Various venues, London, 8-23 June.
Bath festival jazz weekend
This festival always features a wide-ranging jazz weekend: this year's includes saxophonist Jason Yarde's subtle duo with pianist Andrew McCormack, Courtney Pine's genre-bending Europa, pianists Stan Tracey, Tord Gustavsen, Gwilym Simcock and Zoe Rahman, along with Manchester's acclaimed young Beats & Pieces big band. Various venues, Bath, 2-4 June.
Wide Open School
A hundred artists lead courses, lectures and demonstrations open to the public. Get down and dirty with the Gelitin group, take a course in queer home economics, cook offal with Yto Barrada, learn about energy not quality with Thomas Hirschhorn. Hayward, London , 11 June-11 July.
Richard Hawley
The bequiffed son of Sheffield takes his latest album, Standing at the Sky's Edge, out for an autumn jaunt. Tour begins at Holmfirth Picture House, West Yorkshire, 16 September.
Jordan Mintzer
THR Staff
Stuart Kemp
Old Municipal Market, Brighton
Bow Down remains one of Harrison Birtwistle's best kept secrets. It was conceived with the poet and playwright Tony Harrison , at the National theatre in 1977, for a small company of actors and instrumentalists. Based upon the traditional ballad of the Two Sisters, its spare fusion of music, text and ritual defies categorisation. But it perhaps comes closer to Birtwistle's idea of what music theatre in its broadest, rawest sense can be than any of his better-known large-scale operas.
The gruesome ballad exists in various forms across Europe and North America. Elements of many of them are woven into the rhyming couplets of Harrison's text, interspersed with snatches of folksong, and punctuated by piercing drones and dissonances from a flute and oboe, or underpinned with the regular pulses of claves or drums. Roles are shared and swapped, and the actors also combine in a chanting chorus, as the powerful story emerges piece by piece.
That Bow Down is so hard to pigeonhole explains, perhaps, why it has been rarely seen over the last three decades. But Frederic Wake-Walker has chosen it for his debut as Opera Group's artistic director. Flexibility appears to be an essential part of Harrison Birtwistle's concept – the work was originally devised in rehearsal – but the score is surprisingly prescriptive, and Wake-Walker's accomplished production turns out to be very similar to previous British stagings, if, in some respects, less ritualised than before. How it will fare in different venues remains to be seen, but the words might come across more clearly in some than they did in the boomy market acoustic in Brighton, where traffic noise, cooing pigeons and squawking gulls proved more distracting than atmospheric.
Rating: 3/5
Andrew Clements
Stuart Kemp
Etan Vlessing
Aniello Arena is attracting best actor buzz for his role in Reality, but would be unable to claim the prize as he is in prison
Aniello Arena has been touted as the next De Niro and tipped for the best actor prize at this year's Cannes film festival. But if he does win the award, he will be unable to claim his prize in person as he is a former mafia hitman serving a life sentence for his role in a triple homicide, it was revealed on Sunday.
Arena was cast by Matteo Garrone, the director of comedy Reality after delivering strong performances with his prison theatre company and was allowed out to the film's set on day release.
Described by Garrone as a "great actor" blessed with the onscreen charisma of Robert De Niro, Arena was part of a five-man mafia hit squad in 1991 who shot dead three members of a rival drug-dealing clan and accidentally wounded an eight-year-old girl on the outskirts of Naples, Corriere della Sera reports.
Captured by police that year, Arena then discovered acting in prison in Volterra in Tuscany and told Corriere his hitman days were far behind him.
"I turned over that black page in my life a long time ago and I am no longer that man," he said, adding that acting had saved him. "I would never have imagined that I would open a book, let alone recite Brecht or Shakespeare."
Arena is winning rave reviews for his performance in Reality as a Naples fishmonger and small-time scam artist who is bedazzled by the glamour of television and dreams of being selected for the cast of Big Brother.
Garrone said Arena's role as a wide-eyed, "modern Pinocchio" who is taken in by the promise of fame came naturally to a man who has spent 20 years behind bars.
"His weeks on the set were not just a holiday out of jail but the discovery of a world," he said.
Arena,44, said one thing he had not missed while in jail was Big Brother. "Unfortunately I have my own Big Brother here in prison, where we are watched 24 hours a day," he said.
Reality caps a golden cinematic moment for Italian criminals behind bars. In February, a film starring inmates at Rome's Rebibbia jail won the top prize at the Berlin film festival. Caesar Must Die, a docudrama directed by brothers Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, follows prisoners – some of whom are serving time for murder and mafia crimes – as they rehearse for a performance of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
Garrone has hired suspected mobsters before. In 2008 he won the grand prix at Cannes with his film Gomorrah, based on Roberto Saviano's book detailing the ascent of the Casalesi clan, one of the most feared groups within Naples' Camorra mafia. Following the film's release, a number of the actors playing mobsters in the film were arrested on suspicion of being real-life criminals.
Garrone was recently questioned by magistrates over suspicions he paid the Camorra protection money while filming Gomorrah. He denied the charge but admitted he had met bosses to research the film.
Garrone said he had wanted to cast Arena in Gomorrah but a judge decided it was not the right kind of film for a former hitman to be acting in.
The celluloid success of Italian convicts comes as Italy's law abiding thespians struggle to set the world on fire. "Should they continue going straight," asked La Stampa, "or commit crimes in order to get on the red carpet at the world's most important film festivals?"
Tom Kington
THR Staff
Pamela McClintock
Megan Lehmann
The actor is noted for his huge range of work, from Shame to Jane Eyre and his new role as a robot in the prequel to Alien is likely to add to his plaudits
When Michael Fassbender was a teenager growing up in Killarney, Co Kerry, he wanted more than anything to be a heavy metal rock star. He grew his hair long, wore cut-off combat shorts and 10-hole Doc Martens and spent much of his spare time listening to thrash metal bands Metallica and Slayer at ear-splitting volume.
As it was, he performed a single concert in a pub with his friend Mike. It was the middle of the day and the regulars kept asking them to turn the volume down. "Nobody wants to hear Metallica at lunchtime," Fassbender recalled in a recent interview with GQ magazine.
But heavy metal's loss turned out to be acting's gain. At the age of 35, Fassbender has become part of the Hollywood A-list, an actor with a gift for teasing out the complex nuances of character. The sheer range of his work alone is impressive: in the last year, he has tackled gothic romance (Mr Rochester in Jane Eyre), comic-book heroism (Magneto in X-Men: First Class) and psychotherapy (Carl Jung in David Cronenberg's A Dangerous Method). Next month, Fassbender will star as an android in Prometheus, Ridley Scott's hotly awaited prequel to his seminal 1979 film, Alien. Although details of the plot are closely guarded, Fassbender has described his character as "incredibly human… he cries robot tears – and creeps everyone out".
Scott has called his new star: "One of the best three or four actors out there. He holds the screen." And according to the director Steve McQueen, who has worked with Fassbender several times: "There is no one like Michael out there right now. And there hasn't been, for me, since Marlon Brando. There's a fragility and a femininity to him, but also a masculinity that can translate. You're not in awe of him. You're part of him. He pulls you in. And that's what you want from an actor. You want people to look at him and see themselves."
On screen, Fassbender is able to convey both intensity and vulnerability in equal measure: his haunting portrayal of a sex addict in Shame won him critical plaudits and a clutch of awards, including the Volpi Cup for best actor at the 2011 Venice film festival. To the astonishment of many, he was overlooked for an Oscars nomination.
Off screen, he is renowned for his dedication. He will read a script up to 300 times before filming and has attributed this perfectionism to his Teutonic ancestry – his father, Josef, is from Germany. "If I came home with 85% in a test," Fassbender has said, "he'd always ask what happened to the other 15%."
When he played IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands in McQueen's 2008 film, Hunger, Fassbender survived on 900 calories a day – a diet consisting mainly of nuts, berries and sardines – and lost 40lbs, taking him down to nine stone. Hunger went on to win the Caméra d'Or at Cannes. For Jane Eyre, Fassbender learned to ride, although filming was repeatedly delayed because every time the actor mounted his horse, the animal got an erection – much to the amusement of onlookers.
Vincent Cassel, who spoke to the Observer earlier this year and was Fassbender's co-star in A Dangerous Method, said simply that he was "an amazing actor… he and I really got along. It was one of the reasons I was attracted to doing the film – getting to work with him". His fellow actors use similar phrases to describe him. Although he brings a fierce, almost obsessive passion to each role, when Fassbender is off-duty, he is "very sane", "good company" and "a laugh"; one acquaintance recalls the hilarity of seeing Fassbender solo Cossack-dancing at a friend's wedding a few years ago.
David Cronenberg has described him as "so perky, it drives you crazy. One day [while filming A Dangerous Method], I found him out in the sun in his costume and make-up, with this big smile. I said, 'Michael, why are you smiling like that?' He said, 'I don't know... life.' I said, 'It's so irritating that you're happy all the time.'"
All of this points to the fact that fame has not gone to his head. Despite his Hollywood success, Fassbender still lives in the same modest flat in Hackney, east London, that he has owned since his late 20s, when he was struggling to get enough work to make ends meet. When a magazine journalist visited the flat recently, he noted it was covered with boxes and clothes and had bubbling paint on the ceiling where there had been serious water leakage.
"My mother wouldn't be happy," Fassbender admitted.
The first thing everyone notices is the name. The actor was born in Heidelberg in west Germany, and "Fassbender" is the German term for someone who repairs casks or barrels. Michael was almost born on April Fool's Day but, according to family lore, his father told his mother to hang on a bit longer and he appeared at half-past midnight the next day.
His mother, Adele, comes from County Antrim in Northern Ireland and when Fassbender was two, his parents moved to Killarney, where they ran the West End House restaurant, with his father working there as chef.
Fassbender and his older sister, Catherine (who is now a neuropsychologist), spent summer holidays in Germany and he speaks the language fluently.
In County Kerry, he went to the local Catholic school and was head altar boy at the age of 12 – an onerous responsibility that required him to attend all weddings and funerals and to look after the keys to the church. "A couple of times I slept in," he admitted in an interview with the Guardian. "And the whole congregation was waiting outside the church… but that was my first experience in a way of being on stage, before an audience, of sorts."
At the age of 16, his parents allowed him to move into rooms over the restaurant in town and to live a relatively independent life in return for his working shifts at the weekend. Someone who knows him from that period remembers the young Fassbender as "a very hard worker. He was a great character, great fun. He had great interaction with the customers – he made lots of tips.
"I wasn't surprised that he became an actor. It was all in him. He always had that ability, that roguishness.
"He's still great fun and very down to earth. We're all very proud of him here. When he comes home at Christmas, everyone respects him greatly but he just wants to be plain old Michael and we respect that too."
After failing to make it as a heavy metal star, Fassbender decided to become an actor. At first, his father tried to put him off the idea. "It sounds funny now but I tried to talk him out of it because it is such an unstable profession," Josef Fassbender told a fan site in 2009. "It depends so much on luck, who you meet, how you are received."
Nevertheless, his son went on to study at the Drama Centre in north London, dropping out before graduating after being cast in Steven Spielberg's epic Second World War television mini-series, Band of Brothers. Although it was meant to have been Fassbender's big break, he spent several months in Los Angeles being rejected for parts before eventually retreating to London and carving out a living on British television; through the years, he has appeared on Poirot, Holby City and Murphy's Law.
His breakthrough came when he turned 30 in 2007 and met the artist Steve McQueen, who was then planning to make his debut feature film. Although the pair's first encounter was inauspicious – McQueen thought Fassbender was cocky – they were persuaded to meet again by the casting director. This time, things went more smoothly. McQueen has since compared the experience to "falling in love. You want to keep it. And I think myself and Michael are very pleased that we've found each other in that way".
Fassbender's performance as Bobby Sands gave him his breakthrough into the big time. A year later, Quentin Tarantino cast him as the English officer Lt Archie Hicox in Inglourious Basterds alongside Brad Pitt and there was no turning back.
His appearance in Ridley Scott's science fiction bonanza is likely to earn him yet more plaudits and box-office success. In his personal life, too, he seems more settled of late, having recently confirmed he is dating his Shame co-star, Nicole Beharie. No wonder David Cronenberg remarked on Fassbender's remarkable perkiness – he's got every reason to smile.
Elizabeth Day
Marine Le Pen, Nicolas Dupont-Aignan et Jean-François Copé fustigent le manque de décisions concrètes prises à Camp David.
Claude Guéant, ancien ministre de l'intérieur et candidat UMP aux législatives dans les Hauts-de-Seine, ne pense pas que Nicolas Sarkozy revienne en politique. Interrogé dimanche par Canal + sur un éventuel retour de l'ex-président qui a dit lui-même redevenir "un Français parmi les Français", M. Guéant a répondu : "j'aimerais qu'il revienne, mais je suis pas convaincu qu'il en soit aussi certain que moi". "Il m'a dit effectivement, comme à d'autres, qu'il tournait la page", a poursuivi celui qui fut aussi secrétaire général à l'Elysée. "Je pense que beaucoup de Français souhaitent qu'il revienne". Doivent-ils crier plus fort pour le faire revenir ? "A mon sens, il faudrait qu'ils crient très fort", a observé M. Guéant. >> Lire : Nicolas Sarkozy paraît décidé à quitter la politique
La Garde des sceaux poursuit la visite symbolique des lieux dans lesquels le gouvernement entend marquer la rupture avec la politique de Nicolas Sarkozy.