Mr Turner review: Brilliant brushstrokes from Timothy Spall

Like the character of JMW Turner, Mike Leigh's biopic of Britain's favorite artist is a painting of contradictions. Leigh presents an unglamorized view of Turner's later years; the awesome splendor of his landscapes repeatedly brought down to earth by the mundane reality of his own life. Rather than making for dull viewing, Turner's simplicity brings us to the realization that such an apparently ordinary, if eccentric man was responsible for colossal artistic achievements, an idea which reflects the visionary nature of the film as much as it reflects on Turner himself.


Timothy Spall plays Turner in a role likely to define his career (discounting the unhappy inevitability of being remembered largely for his performances in the Harry Potter series). Spall produces a small miracle of character acting, simultaneously tender in his deep love for his father (a touching performance by Paul Jesson) and callous in his neglection of his own daughters, vain in his desire for the success of his work and his hurt at its dismissal by a young Queen Victoria ("a dirty yellow mess") yet accepting and even happy in his close relationship with his second mistress Sophia Booth. A lesser actor might have palled at the complexity of the figure but Spall is in his element, each joyfully Victorian line delivered with knowing confidence and a subtle gruffness concealing deeper emotions. He may have spent two years learning to paint for the role, but it's Spall's sublime performance that truly makes the film, whether he's lashed to a ship's mast in an effort to understand the atmosphere of a storm or frequenting brothels for inspiration.

On the subject of painting, the brilliance of Turner's art is not overlooked despite the focus on the portrayal of his everyday life. Taking Turner's last words "the sun is god" to heart, Leigh and cinematographer Dick Pope create vibrant cinematic visions of the England that inspired Turner's work, each bedecked in gorgeous colour and light. To see the iconic Fighting Temeraire restored to glorious reality through masterful use of technology is a particularly spine-tingling moment, as is the instant of inspiration for his Great Western Railway. Alienation becomes a theme as Turner's world is rapidly overtaken by industry (steam engines, cameras), but there's a nagging sense that he was always a man apart, unable to connect with virtually anyone except his father. Leigh highlights this through Turner's emotionless sexual exploitation of his first mistress Hannah Danby, a woman tragic in her love for the painter despite his treatment of her. Returning to the painting, I was disappointed with the lack of focus on the development and reactions to Turner's individual masterpieces, particularly The Fighting Temeraire, which are somewhat glossed over. Although the portrayal of Turner's ordinary life serves the picture well, a little more screen time for the art itself would have improved the balance, and it's particularly noticeable in a film well over two hours long.

Despite its dark revelations of character, this is a wonderfully funny film full of comic moments. From Turner's mockery of establishment artists such as John Constable by "ruining" a storm painting with a single drop of red paint before turning it into a buoy, to his spying on prospective art buyers through a peephole, Spall proves himself a master of comic delivery and timing. However, Leigh does appear to overstretch the comedy in his portrayal of art critic John Ruskin as simpering twerp, especially considering the huge role Ruskin played in preserving the memory of Turner's art after his death. But for all my minor gripes, Leigh's film is a near perfect vision of Turner's life, stoically refusing to pretentiously glamorize but remaining witty and deliciously entertaining. And as Hannah Danby weeps for her lost, unrequited love in the film's final shot, we are reminded that for all his artistic genius Turner's story was a brilliantly human one.

9/10

Taylor Swift, 1989 review: So long country roads

Change. Having spent ten years as the poster girl for the American country scene, Taylor Swift's reinvention has been a long time coming. 1989 may sound like a 24-year step backwards, but the confidence that drives its addictive synth tunes and stadium choruses marks a sonic revolution for a singer famed for twangy guitars and angst-ridden lyrics. A sharp, inventive pop album, 1989 is a far cry from Swift's Pennsylvanian roots and is without a doubt her boldest record to date.


If 2012's Red was a transition between Swift's traditional songwriting and full-blown pop, 1989 is the final nail in the coffin of the country roads and pickup trucks of old. The dynamic shift in style is apparent even from the album's first few seconds (Welcome To New York's pitch perfect keyboard could have opened any track by Blondie or Simple Minds), but it doesn't end there. 1989 delivers warm, electronic beats complemented by moreish melodies and enormous, undeniable choruses unheard on any previous song, and there's barely a hint of acoustic guitar at any point on the record. While such radical advancements could easily alienate Swift's core fanbase, the quality of anthems such as Shake It Off should be enough to silence any lingering doubts over the new sound. After all, if it's going to be pop, it might as well be great pop.

Lead single Shake It Off's sass and bile in its tirade against the "haters" is a perfect showcase of the expansion in lyrical themes found on 1989. Whereas Red gained notoriety for targeted attacks on Swift's ex-boyfriends, the new album covers a wider range of topics including escape and rebirth, while Welcome To New York offers a thrilling landscape of the city that never sleeps. Love is discussed of course, but it's approached in a more mature, perceptive way than past efforts. There's little of Red's lyrical arrogance on display here, but a more cautious outlook occasionally gives way to over-sentimentality. It's most obvious on tracks at the back end of the album such as This Love, whose mawkish "this love is good, this love is bad" refrain smacks of cringeworthy cliche. As with past records, the pacing sags and the songs struggle to maintain their quality towards the ending, although it's less noticeable than on Red due to the album's comparative shortness. It's not a major complaint, but it's unfortunate that the energy of 1989's best songs are once again let down by a couple of failures late in the day. It's also worth noting that, for all Shake It Off's excellence, there's no single here as unarguably perfect as I Knew You Were Trouble.

While much of 1989 has the sound of late 80's pop-rock, the fact that's Swift's reinvention is based upon old themes rather than genuinely new exploration does little to undermine the album's success. Swift treats the decade with a loving reverence which allows her to add her own flair to well-worn elements without making a mockery of either, and as such the album truly sounds like her own record and not a half backed 80's rip off. More than past albums on which Swift felt the pressure to appease her country-loving fans, on 1989 she's chosen the influences she likes and written the music she wants to. As such, it's perhaps her purest piece of work.

While it suffers from issues seemingly inevitable on Taylor Swift albums, 1989 marks a valiant musical shift and is loaded with sublime pop confection. Quietly intelligent but brazenly confident, it's a change to be welcomed, even if it does spell the end for Nashville twang.

8/10

World Peace Is None Of Your Business review: Morrissey's outspoken comeback

Ever since the dissolution of the iconic Smiths, the career of their legendary frontman Morrissey has been one of ups and downs. It's taken him through undisputed genius (1994's Vauxhall and I) to flat lifelessness (1991's Kill Uncle) and everything inbetween, and now, five years after his last outing, a tenth solo record is on the brink of release. Despite its name, World Peace Is None Of Your Business goes beyond a predictable stab at a political statement; it's an intelligent, soulful album which showcases Morrissey at his most life-affirming and essential.

Now well into the third decade of his career, it would have been all too easy for Morrissey to record an album as a homage to his past rather than a vision of the future, but World Peace... is quite the opposite. Indeed, there's an impressive level of variety and experimentation on display as the singer explores a wide range of instrumentation and technique. From the staccato guitar assault of Neal Cassady Drops Dead to the funk elements of Istanbul, this is perhaps Morrissey's most musically ambitious and widely influenced solo record to date. However, themes honed to perfection since the days of The Smiths remain unchanged and overused, most notably the disturbing juxtaposition of black-hearted lyrics and sugar-sweet melody. While fresh and innovative on its early uses in The Smith's 1986 masterpiece The Queen Is Dead, this frequently copied technique now feels too much like an uncle showing off the photos of his college years; unobjectionable, yet ultimately dated and irrelevant. Despite this, the lyrics/music contrast is still superbly executed, most brilliantly on I'm Not a Man, a bitingly personal portrait of domestic violence in which Morrissey recalls a "picturesque wife beater."

On the subject of lyrics, the genius wordsmith behind the likes of There is a Light That Never Goes Out, First of the Gang to Die and Boxers is on fine form thirty years after his words were first heard on The Smith's debut album. World Peace... is not as brazenly political as its name would have you believe; despite its opening track blaring the slogan "each time you vote you support the process" its lyrics are actually remarkably varied and rich.  I'm Not a Man is among the most focussed and complete efforts, but memorable moments are rife elsewhere, such as on Neal Cassady Drops Dead's study of infectious diseases "everyone has babies, babies full of rabies, rabies full of scabies". It's unfortunate that Morrissey appears to be straining on later tracks; Kiss Me a Lot is as gut-wrenching mawkish as a teenage romantic novel, and Smiler With Knife also lacks the quality of the album's first half. These low points cause an inconsistent pace and feel like they simply shouldn't be there, and on an album that's lengthy anyway little would have been lost by removing them.

While It's not without its blips and predictabilities, World Peace... remains a stellar entry in Morrissey's extensive back catalogue. It's outspoken, explorative and at times deeply humorous, and is without a doubt one of the best comebacks of the year so far.

7/10

Notes on The Sun

I'm not going to post a long critique of the Murdoch empire, but shoving this pro-nationalist nonsense down the throats (and through the letterboxes) of twenty two million people is a step too far. Also note the presence  of scantily clad models on page 3, "perverse ogling" is clearly one of the traditional British values The Sun is doing us such a great service by promoting. I set fire to my copy, and I'd urge anyone who even remotely shares my views to do the same, or still better send it back. The idea of The Sun's office being inundated with their own returned newspapers in a Hogwarts acceptance letter-esque manner fills me with a certain kind of joy.