Maliphant: Challenging the Hierarchy of Creation

Russell Maliphant’s ‘Vortex’ © Roswitha Chesher

A little while ago I attended a performance of ‘Vortex’ by the Russell Maliphant Dance Company. (Sadler’s Wells Theatre, London. Touring England until 29 June.) The piece represents choreographer Maliphant’s response to the work of abstract expressionist painter Jackson Pollock. 

‘I didn’t want to make a piece that was literally about Pollock, that said this is his life. ‘Vortex’ is more tangential than that. It’s about energy, paint, gravity, form, physicality.’

‘Vortex’ begins with a single dancer in front of a large canvas that glows gold at his touch. The canvas is then tilted and athletically scaled. It becomes a spinning stage on which a performance is played out; a screen onto which spiralling silhouettes are projected.

The team of five dancers twist and turn, roll and rotate - gracefully, elegantly, hypnotically. They skip around a metal bucket swinging from the ceiling. They pirouette alongside a beautifully billowing silk sheet. They sway under a cascade of falling sand, tracing circular patterns on the stage as it settles. And all the while lighting designer Ryan Joseph Stafford bathes them in ligneous stripes, radiant pools and flickering shadows.

It’s a compelling piece.

Russell Maliphant’s ‘Vortex’

‘Philosophically, personally, I like calm.’

Maliphant is known for creating fluid, smooth, circular movements, and in this context we are reminded of Pollock’s process and product: his bold, physical painting technique and his emotionally expressive, colourful canvases. 

In an interview after the show Maliphant offered a definition.

‘What is choreography? The interaction of the figure, the light, the movement and the space.’

I pondered this concise articulation for a moment, before I noticed that it didn’t include music. Maliphant had consciously omitted what many would imagine as a foundational component of dance. He explained that music was important to him, but it did not come first - changing the hierarchy of the creative process was central to his approach. 

I think that – curiously - creative people can sometimes be quite conservative in their outlook; somewhat set in their ways. Too often they are constrained by the inertia of their own assumptions; by the straitjacket of custom and convention. We would all benefit from occasionally reordering standard practices; challenging technical hierarchies; setting aside our methodological habits. 

Because if you want to change the product, you should try changing the process.


'Well, I've been afraid of changing,
Because I've built my life around you.
But time makes you bolder,
Even children get older,
And I'm getting older too.

Oh, take my love, take it down.
Climb a mountain and turn around.
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills,
Well, the landslide will bring it down.’

Fleetwood Mac, 'Landslide' (S Nicks)

No. 420

Dancing at Lughnasa: When ‘Atmosphere Is More Real than Incident’

From left, Bláithín Mac Gabhann, Alison Oliver, Louisa Harland and Siobhán McSweeney in ‘Dancing at Lughnasa’ © Johan Persson

‘Look at yourselves, will you! Just look at yourselves! Dancing at our time of day? That’s for young people with no duties and no responsibilities and nothing in their heads but pleasure.’

I recently saw an excellent production of Brian Friel’s 1990 work ‘Dancing at Lughnasa.’ (The National Theatre, London until 27 May.)

This ‘memory play’ is shot through with nostalgia and wistfulness. It asks us to consider how we reconstruct our own past; and how our recollections are as much forged from atmosphere as incident.

A middle-aged man Michael Evans recalls the summer of 1936 when he was a young boy living with his unmarried mother and four spinster aunts in rural Donegal.

Oldest sister Kate, a teacher and the only wage earner in the house, is prim, devout and worried about how to make ends meet. Joker Maggie sings popular songs, tells riddles and smokes Woodbines. Chris, Michael’s mother, is dreamy, romantic and prone to depression. Quiet, thoughtful Agnes, in wraparound apron, takes particular care of wellington-booted, ‘simple’ Rose.

‘When are we going to get a decent mirror to see ourselves in?’
‘You can see enough to do you.’
‘Steady on, girl. Today it’s lipstick; tomorrow it’s the gin bottle.’

The sisters babble, bicker and bake soda bread on the large iron range. They tend to their pet white rooster, fetch turf and pick bilberries by the old quarry. They reflect on old friends and missed opportunities; on family secrets and whether to attend the forthcoming harvest dance. 

Justine Mitchell & Siobhán McSweeney. Photo by Johan Persson

‘This must be kept in the family, Maggie! Not a word of this must go outside these walls – d’you hear? – not a syllable!’

Humour, discipline, determination and faith sustain them through what are clearly tough times. Their world is on the cusp of change. The school plans to lay off Kate due to falling rolls, and a new factory seems likely to deprive the two younger siblings of the little money they earn knitting gloves at home. Even the civil war in faraway Spain threatens to impact on their lives.

‘Even though I was only a child of seven at the time I know I had a sense of unease, some awareness of a widening breach between what seemed to be and what was, of things changing too quickly before my eyes, of becoming what they ought not to be.’

Through it all the women lift their spirits by dancing to their unreliable wireless (fondly referred to as Marconi). To the fast heavy beat of a ceili band, one by one they break into a jig. Knitting dropped, feet stomping, arms, legs and hair flying - they sing and shout and spin and turn. It’s a wondrous sight of wild, raucous, almost pagan, abandon.

‘I had witnessed Marconi’s voodoo derange those kind, sensible women and transform them into shrieking strangers.’

‘Oh play to me, Gypsy, the moon's high above,
Oh, play me your serenade, the song I love.
Oh sing to me, Gypsy, and when you are gone,
Your song will be haunting me and lingering on.’

Gracie Fields, ‘Play to Me, Gypsy’ (K Vacek / J Kennedy)

Brian Friel. Image courtesy of RTÉ

Friel was in his early sixties when he wrote ‘Dancing at Lughnasa’. It was based quite closely on his own upbringing. What’s striking about the play is that not too much happens. The sisters have to tend to their brother, who has returned from missionary work in Uganda suffering from mental illness. Chris must navigate occasional visits from Michael’s charming but feckless father. And Rose goes walkabout. In a concluding speech Friel explains that his recollection of this distant time is constructed more from mood than particular events.

'There is one memory of that Lughnasa time that visits me most often; and what fascinates me about that memory is that it owes nothing to fact. In that memory atmosphere is more real than incident and everything is simultaneously actual and illusory.'

In the communications business we, quite appropriately, spend a good deal of time constructing narratives. Stories are powerful vehicles for messages; for conveying features, benefits and rewards. But do we sufficiently attend to atmosphere – to the mood, spirit and feelings that we wish our brands to express? Surely atmosphere provides the fabric for enduring recollections.

As ‘Dancing at Lughnasa’ demonstrates, you can convey a great deal without recourse to specific incidents, actions or narratives – and sometimes without using words at all.

'When I remember it, I think of it as dancing. Dancing with eyes half closed because to open them would break the spell. Dancing as if language had surrendered to movement – as if this ritual, this wordless ceremony, was now the way to speak, to whisper private and sacred things, to be in touch with some otherness. Dancing as if the very heart of life and all its hopes might be found in those assuaging notes and those hushed rhythms and in those silent and hypnotic movements. Dancing as if language no longer existed because words were no longer necessary…'

'Twas on the Isle of Capri that he found her
Beneath the shade of an old walnut tree.
Oh, I can still see the flowers blooming round her
When they met on the Isle of Capri.
She was as sweet as the rose at the dawning
But somehow fate hadn't meant it to be,
And though he sailed with the tide in the morning,
Yet his heart's on the Isle of Capri.’

Gracie Fields, 'Isle of Capri’ (J Kennedy / W Grosz)

No. 419

‘Why Are All These People Here?’: A Provocative Question at the Sydney Opera House

I have recently returned from my first trip to Australia. 

My brother Martin and I thoroughly enjoyed the sea and sunshine; walks and views; fresh food and robust wine. We visited museums, galleries and surf clubs; vibrant markets, friendly pubs and the hallowed MCG. We spotted wallabies, kookaburras and brush turkeys; drank piccolo coffees, sipped Coopers from schooners and paid at the bar. It struck me as a country of progress and positivity; optimism and opportunity.

On one occasion we were standing outside the Sydney Opera House, admiring its splendid ceramic-tiled shells. How magnificent to see this familiar building up close.

An Indian tourist approached and asked to have his picture taken. Once we had obliged, the young man had another request.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘I’d like to know: Why are all these people here?’

‘What do you mean? Why are these people in Sydney?’

‘No. This place, here.’ He gesticulated at the clusters of sightseers wandering around the building’s forecourt. ‘I asked the Security Guard and he doesn’t know.’

We hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, this is the Sydney Opera House. It’s an architectural masterpiece. It’s one of the wonders of the modern world.’

‘Oh. Thank you. I see.’

The tourist nodded gratefully at our explanation, though he still seemed a little perplexed.

'I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.’
Eleanor Roosevelt

We spend a good deal of time nowadays describing in great detail the trends and fashions that are impacting our world. We have reams of data, stacks of statistics to prove our points and evidence our observations. But I wonder if we spend enough time endeavouring to comprehend the underlying forces driving change, the truest cause. Do we sufficiently stop to enquire: ‘Why are all these people here?’?

We know from the relentless enquiries of children that Why? can be challenging and disarming. It is a simple question, but it takes us to the most interesting places – particularly when it is repeated.

The Toyota Motor Corporation used to ask Five Whys of a technical fault in order to establish its root cause. They believed that only after Five Whys did one arrive at the real issue, and by this method they found that product problems often derive from people and processes.

'The basis of Toyota’s scientific approach is to ask why five times whenever we find a problem … By repeating why five times, the nature of the problem as well as its solution becomes clear.' 
Taiichi Ohno

We stood talking to the Indian tourist for a little while longer. It transpired he was over on holiday from New Delhi. Not far from Agra and the Taj Mahal, we thought. Perhaps that’s why he seemed so unimpressed.

'How many times do I have to try to tell you
That I'm sorry for the things I've done?
But when I start to try to tell you,
That's when you have to tell me
Hey... This kind of trouble's only just begun.
I told myself too many times:
Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?
That's why it hurts so bad to hear the words
That keep on falling from your mouth.
Tell me
Why...
I may be mad,
I may be blind,
I may be viciously unkind.
But I can still read what you're thinking.’

Annie Lennox, ‘Why'

No. 418

Berthe Morisot: ‘Wanting to Capture the Smallest Thing’

Berthe Morisot - Young Woman Watering a Shrub

'It is important to express oneself... provided the feelings are real and are taken from your own experience.’
Berthe Morisot

I recently attended an exhibition of the work of Berthe Morisot. ('Shaping Impressionism' is at The Dulwich Picture Gallery, London, until 10 September.)

Morisot was a pioneer, a founding member of the Impressionist movement. Constrained from painting in public, she created works of private reflection and quiet calm. She teaches us to treasure brief moments and small gestures, stillness and restraint.

‘My ambition was limited to wanting to capture something of what goes by, just something, the smallest thing.’

Morisot was born into an affluent family in Bourges, France in 1841. Her father was a civic administrator, her mother was related to the Rococo painter Fragonard. Since the art schools of the time were closed to female students, she was taught privately by tutors who included the landscape painter Corot. Copying works in the Louvre, always chaperoned, she met Renoir and Fantin-Latour; Degas, Manet and Monet, and became part of a lively artistic set. Manet painted her portrait on at least 11 occasions, transfixed by her intense gaze, her dark hair, eyes and dress. 

'Dreams are life itself – and dreams are more true than reality; in them we behave as our true selves – if we have a soul it is there.’

In 1864 Morisot began submitting her work to the Paris Salon. In 1874 she married Manet’s brother Eugène and participated in the first Impressionist exhibition. She went on to exhibit at all the subsequent Impressionist shows, except that of 1878, when she was recovering from the birth of her daughter, Julie. 

'Real painters understand with a brush in their hand.’

Berthe Morisot - In the Apple Tree

Whereas the male Impressionists often painted the bustling life of the city’s streets, cafes and clubs, Morisot was restricted by her class and gender to domestic scenes. Her work captured women and children at home and in the garden: secluded private moments, intimate interior lives.

Morisot’s sister Edma waters her shrubs in her long white day dress. Two girls play at catching a goldfish in a basin. Madame Escholier regards us with her clasped hands resting on a writing desk. A young woman in a glamorous silk gown inspects herself in the mirror as she adjusts her hair, a precious instant of tranquility before the night ahead. Here’s Julie perched on the bough of an apple tree; Julie playing the mandolin; Julie toying with a pet chicken in her lap at the feet of a tired young maid. (Julie appeared in nearly 50 of Morisot’s canvases before the age of 12.)

'A love of nature is a consolation against failure.’

Morisot didn’t have a studio, painting instead in the living room and bedroom. Her brush strokes were loose and light, quick and free. One critic dubbed her ‘the angel of the incomplete’. She certainly had a knack for capturing the fleeting moment. 

Social norms may have prevented Morisot from painting grand public scenes. But she made a virtue of this constraint and was quietly resolute. 

'I do not think any man would ever treat a woman as his equal, and it is all I ask because I know my worth.’

Berthe Morisot - Woman at Her Toilette, 1875/80

She demonstrates the subtle force of the informal and intimate, the personal and private; the emotive power of ‘the smallest thing.’

In 1893 Morisot lost her husband and her hair turned grey with grief. She painted Julie dressed in mourning black, staring straight at us, a greyhound at her feet and one hand planted firmly on the sofa. 

Two years later Morisot contracted influenza while nursing her daughter. Aware that she was fading fast, she wrote a letter of farewell to the 16-year-old.

'My dearest little Julie, I love you as I lie dying; I shall still love you when I am dead. I beg of you, do not cry; this parting was inevitable. I would have liked to be with you until you married – Work hard and be good as you have always been; you have never caused me a moment's sorrow in your little life. You have beauty, good fortune; use them well. I think the best thing would be to live with your cousins in the Rue de Villejust, but I do not wish to force you to do anything… Do not cry, I love you more than I can tell you.’

Morisot died soon after. She was 54.

Berthe Morisot - Julie Manet and her Greyhound, Laertes, 1893

'A cigarette that bears a lipstick's traces,
An airline ticket to romantic places,
And still my heart has wings.
These foolish things remind me of you.
A tinkling piano in the next apartment,
Those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant,
A fair ground's painted swings.
These foolish things remind me of you.
You came, you saw, you conquered me.
When you did that to me,
I knew somehow this had to be.
The winds of March that make my heart a dancer
A telephone that rings, but who's to answer?
Oh, how the ghost of you clings!
These foolish things remind me of you.’

Ella Fitzgerald, 'These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)’ (H Link / H Marvell / J Strachey)

No. 417

Dionne Warwick: Driving in Style Down the Middle of the Road

Dionne Warwick posed in Hyde Park, London in 1965. Photo : David Redfern/Redferns

‘You cannot separate the voice from the heart. Dionne’s music inspired people to see and look forward to the best part of themselves.’
Stevie Wonder

I recently watched an entertaining documentary about the career of sublime singer Dionne Warwick. (‘Don’t Make Me Over’, directed by Dave Wooley and David Heilbroner, 2021)

'Years ago I learned to be totally responsible for Dionne Warwick. I will not wait for opportunities. I will create them.’

Through the ‘60s and ‘70s Warwick performed peerless versions of Bacharach & David songs - classics like ‘Don't Make Me Over’, ‘Anyone Who Had a Heart’ and ’Walk On By’; ‘Alfie’, ‘A House Is Not a Home’ and ‘Do You Know the Way to San Jose.’ In the ‘80s she successfully re-launched her career, scoring more hits and winning countless awards. And she went on to be an effective activist and campaigner.

‘They’re not gonna tell me what to do.’

Warwick was the mistress of a particular form of American popular song. Achieving sustained mainstream success is deceptively difficult. She teaches us how it can be done with style and grace.

'Anyone who ever loved
Could look at me
And know that I love you.
Anyone who ever dreamed
Could look at me
And know I dream of you,
Knowing I love you so.
Anyone who had a heart
Would take me in his arms and love me too.
You couldn't really have a heart
And hurt me like you hurt me,
And be so untrue.
What am I to do?’
‘Anyone Who Had a Heart’ (B Bacharach / H David)

Born in 1940, Marie Dionne Warrick was raised in a middle-class neighbourhood in East Orange, New Jersey. Her mother worked in an electrical factory and her father was a Pullman porter.

'My parents gave me stability and a belief in myself and in all the possibilities life has to offer. I was told the only limitations I would ever face were those I placed upon myself.’

Music was central to Warrick’s life from the start. Her mother, Lee Drinkard, managed a gospel group. Accomplished vocalist Cissy Houston (mother of Whitney) was her aunt and lived in the same family home. Legendary opera singer Leontyne Price was a cousin.

'I come from a singing family, and, as is said, 'the apple does not fall far from the tree.'’

Warrick sang in church where her grandfather was a minister. At the age of 6, when she was invited to stand on some books to perform ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ she received her first standing ovation. At the age of 17 she took the stage at the famously challenging Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater Harlem.

‘If you think it, you can do it.’

Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach at Pye studios in London. 29th November 1964. (Photo by Bela Zola/Daily Mirror/Mirrorpix via Getty Images)

After finishing High School in 1959, Warrick studied at the Hartt College of Music in West Hartford, Connecticut. There she learned to read, play and write music, a technical education that would sustain her throughout her career. At the same time she found work singing backing vocals for recording sessions in New York City.

In 1962 Warrick was spotted at one of these sessions by songwriter Burt Bacharach, and hired to record demos of songs he had written with lyricist Hal David.

‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with my education – because my mother would kill you, and me too.’

Warrick hoped that one of the demos, ‘Make It Easy on Yourself,’ would become her first single release. When she discovered Bacharach & David had given the song to another artist, Jerry Butler, she was not happy.

‘That didn’t sit too well with me. So when I got to New York I kind of let them know: ‘Ahah. You don’t do that to me. One thing I want you both to understand is there’s something you can never do to Dionne – that’s try to make her over. So don’t even think it.’’

Bacharach & David apologised and were inspired by Warrick’s rebuke to write her first hit, 1962’s ‘Don't Make Me Over.’ Warrick's name was misspelled Warwick on the record label and she adopted the new construction thereafter.

'Don't make me over
Now that I'd do anything for you.
Don't make me over
Now that you know how I adore you.
Don't pick on the things I say, the things I do,
Just love me with all my faults
The way that I love you.
I'm begging you.’
‘Don’t Make Me Over’ (B Bacharach / H David)

Touring on the Chitlin’ Circuit in the American South, Warwick experienced the indignities of racism – only being allowed to use Black hotels, restaurants and toilets; not feeling safe to stay in certain towns; performing to segregated audiences.

At one such gig Sam Cooke advised her before she went on stage: ‘Do not turn your back on the white folk.’

Young Warwick wasn’t willing to comply.

‘First thing I did when I went out there, I walked straight to the band and turned my back and played to the ones that looked like me.’

On another occasion Warwick made a point of adapting the lyrics to Ray Charles’ ‘What I Say’.

'Tell your mama, tell your pa, we're gonna integrate Arkansas.'

She was warned by the police that she had minutes to get out of town.

'I refuse to allow prejudice to defeat me.’

Bigotry couldn’t stop Warwick’s progress. She scored hit after hit in the US and abroad, touring Europe to great acclaim. Marlene Dietrich announced her on stage at the Paris Olympia and introduced her to the world of couture.

‘She took me shopping, much to the chagrin of my accountants.’

Warwick was not a raw-voiced R&B or gospel artist in the traditional sense. Rather her singing was light and elegant. Her voice floated above and around the instrumentation. It could be delicate, soft, and then startlingly robust. It was always under complete control.

Warwick’s technical skills enabled her to navigate Bacharach’s complex compositions. Indeed she inspired him to write more challenging tunes.

‘To sing Bacharach’s melodies you almost had to have a music education, just to read what he wrote – different registers, time signatures. The man marched to his own drummer. If you wanted to be part of that, you had to march with him.’

With her high cheekbones and elegantly arched eyebrows; with her immaculate hair and chic wardrobe, Warwick was a class act. Her success took her to places that few Black performers had been before – to Vegas and prime time TV shows, hosted by the likes of Ed Sullivan, Perry Como and Danny Kaye. Some critics responded to her sweet voice, clear articulation and pop material by labelling her crossover or middle-of-the-road. Some underestimated her talent.

What strikes me about the Warwick story is that, while it’s relatively easy to stay niche and narrow in your appeal, it is incredibly hard to succeed in the mainstream. She demonstrates that to drive in the middle of the road, you need a rare combination of talent, technique and tenacity. Yes, she sang with poise and grace. But she was precise and meticulous in her delivery, strong and resolute in her engagement with the industry.

'I am an outspoken person. I believe in what I say.’

The mental toughness that helped get Warwick to the top was also very much evident in her later career.

With the chart dominance of disco in the late ‘70s, Warwick considered retirement. She was persuaded back to the recording studio by Clive Davis at Arista.

'You may be ready to give the business up, but the business is not ready to give you up.'
Clive Davis

There followed another string of hits, including ‘I’ll Never Love This Way Again’ and ‘Heartbreaker.’

‘I’m a messenger and I’m carrying messages of love and hope.’

Warwick was one of the first voices in the music business to speak out about the AIDS crisis, recording the benefit single 'That's What Friends Are For' for the American Foundation for AIDS Research (AmFAR) (alongside Gladys Knight, Elton John and Stevie Wonder). Appointed a health ambassador by Ronald Reagan, she prompted him to say the word AIDS in public for the first time.

‘My guide is the bible. Everybody is your brother’s keeper. Everybody. I don’t care who you are – white, black, green, orange and different. You can be striped and you’re still my sister or brother – by the rules of god. And I’ve got to do what is right to help you.’

Warwick subsequently addressed the issue of misogynist lyrics in gangster rap, taking to task the likes of Snoop Dogg, Tupac and Death Row Records’ Suge Knight.

‘You don’t call me out of my name. You don’t know me that well.’

In a 60-year career Dionne Warwick has sold over 100 million records, she has had 56 chart hits and won 6 Grammy Awards. She has been a model of mainstream success – tender, technical and tough. No one dared make her over.

'If you see me walking down the street
And I start to cry each time we meet,
Walk on by, walk on by.
Make believe
That you don't see the tears,
Just let me grieve
In private, because each time I see you
I break down and cry,
And walk on by.’
‘Walk On By’ (B Bacharach / H David)

No. 416

A Misunderstanding at a Pub in Primrose Hill: Seeing Ourselves as Others See Us

Edward Le Bas, Dinner at the Garrick

One afternoon at the turn of the year I was with my old college friends at a pub in Primrose Hill. 

We agreed that it would be good to order food, and so as to accelerate the process, I fetched and distributed some menus. I also took out my Bic biro and a scrap of paper to note down what everyone wanted. 

‘That’s two chicken and mushroom pies, three fish and chips, a salad, some prawns and a bowl of nachos.’

As my friends can be an unruly bunch, I stood up to sustain their concentration.

‘Would you like chips or mash with the pies? Are the fish and chips people fine with mushy peas? Any condiments?’

At this point another group entered the pub, and a smartly dressed, attractive woman directed a beaming smile towards me.

Unaccustomed to such attention, at this or any age, I smiled back.  

And then she stepped forward and addressed me:

‘Do you have a table for five?’

I realised there had been a misunderstanding.

I thought she saw a charming man, and that perhaps there was a spark of electricity between us. 

She thought she saw a member of the waiting staff.

'O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!’
Robert Burns, ‘To a Louse'

I wonder whether we all pass through life suffering similar delusions. 

We imagine ourselves starring in our own movies - whether as romantic heroes or tragic antiheroes. Our partners, friends and family supply the supporting cast. The general public take on the roles of extras. 

And then occasionally we are roused from our fantasy and confronted with the brutal reality. Things are not quite as they seem.

I’m sure this is true in the world of work too. Most of us have a sense of self – of our strengths and weaknesses; of our value and worth - that is inconsistent in certain respects with the broader view. Sometimes we overestimate our contribution. We imagine ourselves vital to the account, crucial to the team, critical to the company. Sometimes we underestimate the part we play - the qualities we take for granted are in fact highly prized by our colleagues.

It’s always worthwhile reaching out to others to hear how we’re doing, to understand how we’re regarded - not just asking our superiors, but our teammates too, at every level. So that, albeit for a brief moment, we can see ourselves as others see us.

I ran the Strategy Department at BBH for some years. When Planners left our business for another job, I liked to conduct my own exit interview. It was an opportunity to hear why they were moving on when they were likely to be most frank. It was always illuminating. If they were interested, I’d offer counsel on how best to navigate their new role.

My final question was always the same: 

‘And what advice would you give me?’


'I would go out tonight,
But I haven't got a stitch to wear.
This man said, 'It's gruesome
That someone so handsome should care.'
This charming man.
This charming man.'
The Smiths, ’This Charming Man’ (J Marr / S Morrissey)

No. 415

The Band Wagon: You Can Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

The Band Wagon, From Left Cyd and Fred Astaire. Photo - Everett

‘The Band Wagon’ is a fine 1953 musical comedy, directed by Vincente Minnelli with songs by Schwartz and Dietz. Starring Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse, it boasts great tunes and cracking dance routines. And it explores some important themes: the interaction between aging talent, timeless skills and contemporary relevance; between entertainment and art, populism and pretension.

The film begins with the auction of a top hat and cane that once belonged to Tony Hunter (Astaire), the star of now dated dance movies. No one is interested in making a bid. We join Tony on a train from Hollywood to New York where he overhears fellow passengers discuss him as a has-been. At Grand Central he is heartened to see a crowd of reporters, but they are there to greet Ava Gardner. He realises he’s all washed up.

'The party's over, the game is ended,
The dreams I dreamed went up in smoke.
They didn't pan out as I had intended,
I should know how to take a joke.’ 
‘By Myself’ (A Schwartz / H Dietz)

Nonetheless, Tony is welcomed at the station by his friends, songwriting duo Lester and Lily Marton. They have composed a light musical comedy that will make a perfect Broadway comeback for him. And they are excited to have caught the interest of avant garde theatre director Jeffrey Cordova.

When the team meet up with Cordova, he enthuses about the project. He proposes to bring together diverse performance traditions into something startlingly new; to create a radical reinterpretation of the Faust legend. 

To accommodate the director’s vision, the Martons rewrite their play as a dark, cutting edge musical drama. And Cordova signs up youthful ballerina Gaby Gerard (Charisse) as Tony’s partner.

Tony, however, is apprehensive about starring opposite a classically trained ballet dancer, and one so tall. And Gaby is nervous about working with a Hollywood legend. Their initial meeting goes badly.

Gaby: I'm a great admirer of yours too.
Tony: Oh, I didn't think you'd ever even heard of me.
Gaby: Heard of you? I used to see all your pictures when I was a little girl. And I'm still a fan. I recently went to see a revival of them at the museum.

The company embarks on rehearsals. But Tony, feeling he's being patronized by the creative team, storms out. 

'Let's get this straight. I am not Nijinsky. I am not Marlon Brando. I am Mrs Hunter's little boy, Tony, song and dance man.'

When Gaby’s attempt to patch things up with Tony goes awry, she bursts into tears. They decide to clear the air with an evening carriage ride and walk through Central Park.

'Where to?'
'Oh, leave it to the horse.'

Strolling under a full moon, they reach a clearing. They walk slowly, in step, without a word - he in a cream linen jacket with yellow shirt and tie, she in a simple white dress. She spins. He spins. They sway together - he with his hands behind his back, she with her hands by her sides. They rotate, skip, twist and turn. At first gently, thoughtfully. Gradually they become elegantly entwined, and as the swooning string music is punctuated by stabs of brass, the extensions become more dramatic, the embrace more intimate. He lifts her up and they look into each other’s eyes. They flutter gracefully up a set of steps and settle back into the carriage, hand in hand, without a word. 

This famous ‘Dancing in the Dark’ sequence establishes that Gaby and Tony make natural dance partners. They recommit to rehearsals with renewed vigour. 

However, the first out-of-town tryout of the show proves disastrous. It’s a hugely complicated production, with elaborate sets and muddled stage direction, and it degenerates into a farce. 

'You got more scenery in this show than there is in Yellowstone National Park!’

'I should have listened to my mother. She told me only to be in hit shows.’

At Tony’s insistence, the creative team convert the production back into the light comedy that the Martons had originally envisaged. At last it all comes together.

The show's centrepiece is a 12-minute dance tribute to pulp detective novels. ‘Girl Hunt’, a murder mystery in jazz’ relates a private eye’s adventures on the city’s mean streets. There’s a blonde in distress, who’s ‘as scared as a turkey in November,’ and a sinister brunette with ‘more curves than a scenic railway.’ There’s a gunfight in the subway and trilbied villains at a fashion show; an emerald ring, exploding bottles and a murderous trumpet player. And it all climaxes in Dem Bones Café with Charisse in shimmering red dress and black evening gloves, all sensuous strut, long legs and high kicks.

‘She was bad. She was dangerous. I wouldn't trust her any farther than I could throw her. But... she was my kind of woman.’

After the thrillingly successful Broadway opening, Gaby and Tony embrace in front of the entire cast and crew. 

'The show's a big hit, Tony... It's going to run for a long time. As far as I'm concerned, it's going to run forever.'

So what are we to make of the underlying themes of  ‘The Band Wagon’?

There’s no doubt the project had personal resonances for Astaire. He was 54 and had been indelibly associated with high society dance movies. He often worried about taller partners and had previously considered retirement.

At first the film seems to be an assertion of the enduring power of established craft in the face of contemporary trends and pretentious art-house conceits. But Tony’s ultimate success does not reside in him returning to the top-hat-and-tails tropes of yesteryear. Rather he forges a new, more inventive form of popular entertainment, based on a natural partnership with a star from another discipline.

It suggests that traditional skills can remain relevant - not by grafting them onto the latest fad or fashion - but by investing them with new vigour, input and imagination.

As the cast declare in a final reprise of the show’s big hit: ‘That’s entertainment!’

'Everything that happens in life
Can happen in a show.
You can make 'em laugh,
You can make 'em cry,
Anything can go.’
’That’s Entertainment’ (A Schwartz, H Dietz)

No.414

Ravilious: An Eye for Ordinary Beauty

Two Women in a Garden

I recently watched a fine documentary about the artist and designer Eric Ravilious. (‘Eric Ravilious: Drawn to War’ (2022), directed by Margy Kinmonth)

Ravilious was a cheerful soul with an observant eye and gentle touch. His design work was clear, concise and witty. His watercolours gave us an affectionate picture of England – at peace and war. He painted a world of serenity, stillness and restraint - at the same time both romantic and modern. And he had an extraordinary ability to recognise ordinary beauty.

Born in Acton in 1903, Ravilious was raised in Eastbourne where his parents ran an antiques shop. From an early age he was inclined towards art, recording in his notebook precise sketches of everyday objects: a scrubbing brush, bucket and boots; a candlestick, collar and tie.

Ravilious won scholarships to study wood engraving at Eastbourne School of Art and then the Royal College of Art. He went on to work as a commercial designer, creating illustrations for books, magazines and adverts. His woodcut of two Victorian gentlemen playing cricket has appeared on the front cover of every edition of Wisden Cricketers' Almanack since 1938. His ceramic designs for Wedgwood include commemorative coronation crockery and his much loved Alphabet mug. A is for Aeroplane, B is for Birdcage, C is for Cloud. The Y and Z - Yacht and Zeppelin - hide on the inside.

Train Landscape

Although Ravilious’ commercial output was delightful, his clients could still be frustrating.

‘Wedgwood have given me some ceramics work. But I am sorry to say that the family think my beautiful designs above the heads of their public, and that to begin with something should be done which is safer and more understandable. I was for clean sweep, they were for a method of slow percolation.’

While earning a living from his design work, Ravilious also had a passion for watercolours. (He couldn’t stand oils, comparing them to toothpaste.)

He painted the countryside and village life of Essex and Sussex; gentle hills, ploughed fields and muddy tracks, under cold grey skies. Here are the ponds at East Dean and Wannock Dew; chalk paths twisting their way across the Downs; the vicarage at Castle Hedingham in the snow. A field-roller lies unattended. A delivery van pauses at a junction. Here’s Ravilious’ wife Tirzah shelling peas under a walnut tree, while her friend Charlotte is engrossed in her book. A man delivers coal to the back of the house. A woman beats a carpet in the shadows. A camp bed in the attic awaits a guest, in amongst the pot plants.

There is a timeless romanticism about Ravilious’ watercolours. But these are not cosy, traditional images. They often have an unsettling, haunted quality. And modern elements are consistently present. There are barbed wire fences, telegraph poles and cement pits. The ancient chalk horse on the hill at Westbury is seen from inside a third class railway compartment. In the yard old automobiles sit forlorn, hoping to be repaired.

Any item, any perspective, however mundane, presents possibility to Ravilious.

Sometimes the images of the late 1930s seem subtly to suggest impending crisis, peace soon to be disturbed. An empty room has the door flung open, as if someone has left in a hurry. The table in the back garden is set for tea, with an umbrella to hand just in case. 

Eric Ravillious

At the outbreak of World War II Ravilious joined the Royal Observer Corps.

‘As the war was starting this morning I put myself down for observing, and started at 2-00 this afternoon. It’s looked on as an old man’s job, which depresses me rather. But it is useful in these parts, and may even be dangerous. Or enough to count.’

Ravilious clearly relished the opportunity to get away, to see strange sights, to immerse himself in his work.

‘I feel a stir in me that it is possible to really like drawing war activities. It interests me to the bone and marrow.’

Before long he was commissioned by the War Artists' Advisory Committee and given the rank of Honorary Captain in the Royal Marines. His military employment took him to docks, coastal defences, submarine stations and aerodromes all over the UK; and on a perilous naval mission to Norway. 

‘It was so nice working on deck long past midnight in bright sunshine. It never fell below the horizon. I do like this life and the people. It’s so remote and lovely in these parts. And the excitements above and below don’t interrupt much.’

Ravilious’ letters to Tirzah sustain the same jaunty tone. Perhaps he was putting on a brave face.

Norway 1940

‘I’m going up to the cliffs twice a day like a man to the office. We’re bombed in the afternoons about 3-30, just as you want tea.’

Ravilious painted barrage balloons, magnetic mines and gun emplacements; docked destroyers in the dead of night; sentinels sitting among the sand bags; seaplanes seen through the sick bay window. A ship’s propeller rests on a railway trolley in the snow. Biplanes are reflected in puddles on the tarmac. Searchlights trace the night sky.

But Ravilious does not over-dramatise. He regards weapons of death and destruction with the same keen eye as he applies to agricultural implements. Each subject - a depth charge launcher, a fortified fishing vessel, an aircraft carrier - presents its own unique design challenge; its own particular beauty.

'Salt Marsh'

In August 1942 Ravilious was invited to visit RAF Station Kaldadarnes in Iceland. On the day he arrived, a plane had failed to return from patrol, and the next morning the artist joined the search party. He wrote a letter home before he set off.

‘I’ve just been offered a ride with a crew searching for a missing American plane. I intend to stay here drawing and painting ‘til Christmas. Goodbye Darling. I hope you feel well again. Take care of yourself. And kisses to the children. Eric.’

Ravilious’ aircraft did not return, and after four days the RAF declared him and the four-man crew lost in action. He was 39 years old.

For some 40 years after, Ravilious was a forgotten artist. It is only in recent decades that his reputation as a ‘romantic modern’ has been established. He teaches us to prize the landscape that surrounds us; to treasure the everyday sights of home; to find charm in the both the strange and familiar. And to approach life with a light heart and a love of beauty.

'Maybe we'll live and learn,
Maybe we'll crash and burn.
Maybe you'll stay, maybe you'll leave.
Maybe you'll return,
Maybe another fight.
Maybe we won't survive,
But maybe we'll grow.
We never know, baby, you and I.

We're just ordinary people,
We don't know which way to go.
'Cause we're ordinary people
Maybe we should take it slow.’

John Legend, 'Ordinary People’ (J Stephens / W Adams)

No. 413

Dogs Can Anticipate Incompetence. Can’t We All?

Francisco de Goya,: The Dog (c1820)

'Never tell a fool that he is a fool. All you'll have is an angry fool.’
The Talmud

With his long ears, short attention span and boundless energy, springer spaniel Dillon was very much part of the Carroll household. When he wasn’t chasing birds or his own tail in the back garden, he tended to hang around the kitchen in the hope of scraps from his mistress’s table.

One day, at home alone from school, I decided to prepare myself a Bejam meat pie and baked beans. Though no culinary expert, I felt I was up to the task.

Dillon sat up straight, anticipating opportunity.

I located a meat pie in the chest freezer we kept in the garden shed and promptly popped it in the oven, setting the heat at an approximate level. Then I stirred the beans and set to reading the next chapter of my Graham Greene novel. After some time, alerted by a concerned bark from Dillon, I discovered the pie was beginning to burn on top.

That’ll be well done, I thought. And so I slipped it onto a plate and spooned the beans over - with a little dash of HP sauce for good measure.

As I tucked into my mid-day feast Dillon regarded me with fierce intensity.

Blimey. That’s not what I expected. Though burnt to a crisp on the outside, the Bejam meat pie was still frozen on the inside. I didn’t know that was scientifically possible.

I deposited the unsightly mess in the swing bin. 

Dillon retired to his station under the telly, the look on his forlorn face suggesting he should have expected nothing better.

I read recently that dogs are able to identify stress in humans from their sweat and breath. Indeed new research published in Behavioural Processes has found that canines are capable of recognizing people’s competence at completing certain tasks.

In the first phase of the study scientists arranged for hungry dogs to watch people attempting to open a food container. The conditions were set so that one sample of humans succeeded in the task (‘The Competent’) and another sample failed (‘The Incompetent’).

When the same humans revisited the exercise in the second phase of the test, they were observed by the same dogs. This time the canny canines fixed their gaze on the Competent openers, ignoring the actions of the Incompetent.

The study concluded that dogs can recognize ineptitude and anticipate its reoccurrence. The article also noted that females are particularly good at spotting inadequacy.

I suspect it’s not just dogs that can sense incompetence. As you walk into the room to find half the attendees are running late. As you embark on a discussion without any clarity about the objectives and duration of the session. As you observe the debate running off subject without any moderation. You just know this is going to be a meandering mess of a meeting.

I’m well aware that many executives think meeting hygiene is beneath them. But what some consider cool, the rest of us consider feckless.

'Details make perfection, and perfection is not a detail.’
Leonardo da Vinci

I often advise Planners to address their career in two phases: rigorous youth and then cavalier maturity. My suggestion is that we should employ the first years of work to learn the ABC of business, to assemble the tools of our trade. After that we can afford to be more self-confident and bold; more flamboyant and expressive.

On hearing this recommendation, most people tend to focus on the cavalier element of it. It sounds like fun. But the tedious truth is that successful careers are founded on rigour, reliability, discipline and attention to detail.

Although Dillon regarded me as inept, he was nonetheless happy to accompany me on brisk walks to Haynes Park and beyond. He had the capacity to forgive failure. Which is perhaps another worthwhile leadership lesson.

'Maybe I'm a fool
For loving you so.
And maybe I'm a fool,
I don’t really know.
But I can't stop loving you, darling,
Even though I tried.

So if you should decide
To try me once more.
All you got to do is knock on my door,
And I'll say that I've taken you back.
If taking you back would be foolish,
Then maybe I'm a fool.’

Aretha Franklin, ‘Maybe I’m a Fool’ (J. L McFarland)

No. 412

Reboot, Relocate, Reimagine: Making Best Use of Traditional Myths and Historical Literature

Constance Devernay-Laurence in Coppelia. Photo: Andy Ross.

‘Coppélia’ is a late 19th century comic ballet, choreographed originally by Saint-Léon and then Petipa, and set to the music of Delibes. Its narrative derives from a Hoffmann short story in which a reclusive inventor crafts a dancing doll so lifelike that a village youth falls madly in love with it. 

I have seen the work a few times and come to the conclusion that it is a somewhat silly museum piece. 

I recently attended a performance by Scottish Ballet of its new version of ‘Coppélia’, choreographed by Morgann Runacre-Temple and Jessica Wright (Sadler’s Wells, London). The drama has been relocated to Silicon Valley and the inventor is now a black polo-neck wearing tech titan. In his NuLife lab he is creating Coppélia, an AI woman that he hopes to transform into a cyborg. A young man becomes besotted with the digital automaton.

With its futuristic candy-coloured costumes, suggestive of ‘Metropolis’; its athletic bobbed dancers; and its elegant integration of screen technology, this new ‘Coppélia’ is smart, slick and dazzling. In rebooting the ballet, the dance-makers have successfully embraced themes of tech megalomania; clones and the metaverse; the nature of 21st century relationships. ‘Coppélia’ has been reborn.

I can think of quite a few theatre productions I’ve seen over the years that have relocated or reimagined a traditional story or historic work, and in so doing have transformed it into something completely contemporary.

When Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ was transposed to the Iraq War, the ethical issues of the conflict seemed terribly real. When Macbeth was recast as a 20th century African warlord, the fierce brutality at the heart of the drama struck home. When Hamlet and Ophelia were presented as gaunt student goths, the audience was prompted properly to consider their fragile youth.

Bruno Micchiardi as Dr Coppelius. Photo: Andy Ross

In 2018 director Marianne Elliott swapped the gender of the main character in Stephen Sondheim’s 1970 musical ‘Company.’ Whereas the traditional male lead in this role can come across as careless and complacent, here we were presented with a successful woman in her mid-30s, unable to commit to a steady relationship and confronted with a ticking clock. It was much more interesting.

'Success is a journey, not a destination. It requires constant effort, vigilance and re-evaluation.’
Mark Twain

Of course advertising campaigns have often drawn on established cultural motifs to achieve immediate recognition and shared reference points.

Back in the day my own Agency, BBH, produced a Lynx/Axe ad that reimagined the fantasy film ‘One Million Years BC’; an Audi ad that channelled Jimi Hendrix; and a Boddington’s ad that mimicked Rene Magritte. And more besides.

The most interesting cultural appropriations not only borrowed from a source story. At the same time they introduced some new interpretation of that tale and integrated the brand in a compelling way.

In 1992 BBH shot a Levi’s ad based on the Cinderella myth. In this version the protagonist in search for love is not a male prince, but a female heroine. She must find the one man who can fit into a discarded pair of worn 501s. Because ‘no two pairs are the same.’

In 2012 The Guardian employed the fable of the Three Little Pigs as a platform to showcase the power of live, participative news reporting; of expert, campaigning journalism across multiple platforms.

At their best commercial reboots, relocations and reimaginings both borrow from, and invest in, the original myths and legends. They make both the story and the brand more relevant.

Inevitably not every new theatrical interpretation I’ve seen has been entirely successful.

One summer my wife and I treated ourselves to some country house opera, booking to see 'La Bohème' at Glyndebourne. As we drove down through rural Sussex, we put behind us the stress, grit and grime of urban life. It was a proper escape. However, this production of the Puccini classic transposed its impoverished artists from the Latin Quarter of 1840s Paris to the hipster scene of present day Hoxton in East London. This was indeed a sound directorial decision. Sadly we’d driven three hours to arrive at a familiar place just a mile from home.

'Back to life, back to the present time,
Back from a fantasy.
Tell me now, take the initiative.
I'll leave it in your hands, until you're ready.
How ever do you want me.
How ever do you need me.’

Soul II Soul, 'Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)’ ( Jazzie B, C Wheeler, N Hooper, S Law)

No. 412