• Apollo 11 – An act of faith: Reach

    In 1926, Robert H. Goddard launched the first rocket that used liquid oxygen and gasoline as fuel. Others were well aware of this idea, including an amateur rocket enthusiast in Germany called Wernher von Braun. The A4 (‘V2’) his team developed was the world’s first intercontinental rocket. It used new technology, including a double-walled combustion chamber that used its own fuel as a coolant and carbon control vanes. After the war, von Braun came to America and continued his work, developing the A4 and giving his former enemy a head start in military and civil rocketry. America’s first satellite went into orbit in 1958, and four years later work began on a much larger system that would allow three men

    to reach the moon. In his “We choose to go to the Moon” speech in 1962, President Kennedy summarised this as-yet-unbuilt structure as: “a giant rocket more than 300 feet tall, the length of this football field, made of new metal alloys, some of which have not yet been invented, capable of standing heat and stresses several times more than have ever been experienced, fitted together with a precision better than the finest watch, carrying all the equipment needed for propulsion, guidance, control, communications, food and survival, on an untried mission, to an unknown celestial body, and then return it safely to earth, re-entering the atmosphere at speeds of over 25,000 miles per hour, causing heat about half that of the temperature of the sun.” By 16 July 1969, the Saturn 5 rocket stack sitting on the pad in Florida was taller than the Statue of Liberty and weighed nearly 3,000 tons – most of that was fuel which, had it exploded, would have released energy equivalent to two kilotons of TNT; the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima was sixteen kilotons. No-one was allowed closer than three miles; at lift-off, the flames turned concrete to glass whilst the shockwaves damaged launch control and caused a seismic event that registered in New York. Its first stage burned 20 tons of fuel a second, pushed the Saturn supersonic in seconds and was empty in 2.5 minutes, by which time the rocket was almost 40 miles high. The second stage fired for less than ten minutes, speeding the Saturn to 15,500 miles per hour. The third lasted for less than five minutes, and ensured the crew reached Earth orbit just 12 minutes from launch. A four-day journey lay ahead.

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  • Apollo 11 – An act of faith: Dreams

    In 1687, Isaac Newton worked out that an object thrown from the top of a mountain with sufficient velocity would not fall to the ground but continue around the Earth – it would enter orbit. Nearly 300 years later, during his famous “We choose to go to the Moon” speech in 1962, President John F. Kennedy illustrated how far mankind had come. He invited those listening to visualise “the 50,000 years of man’s recorded history in a time span of but a half-century. Stated in these terms, we know very little about the first 40 years, except at the end of them advanced man had learned to use the skins of animals to cover them. Then about 10 years ago, under this standard, man emerged from his caves to construct other kinds of shelter. Only five years ago man learned to write and use a cart with wheels. Christianity began less than two years ago. The printing press came this year, and then less than two months ago, during this whole 50-year span of human history, the steam engine provided a new source of power. Newton explored the meaning of gravity. Last month electric lights and telephones and automobiles and airplanes became available. Only last week did we develop penicillin and television and nuclear power, and now if America's new spacecraft succeeds in reaching Venus, we will have literally reached the stars before midnight tonight.” Less than a decade later still, maths graduate Poppy Northcutt was a systems engineer for TRW, one of the many aerospace contractors for NASA,

    and the first female to work in mission control. Northcutt, aged 25 and the first woman on the team, was responsible for calculating Apollo 8’s return trajectories; she took the computer programs home at night to understand them better than her male colleagues. When Apollo 8 disappeared behind the far side of the Moon on its first orbit and was delayed in reappearing, she stood by to work on any emergency course that might be needed. Six months after that, the most photographed event in human history was about to occur. A million people were soon to arrive at the launch complex, the immediate area around it and all along Florida’s coast. The night before, what did they, Poppy and the three men of Apollo 11 dream about?

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  • Maybe it’s because it’s The Londoner

    There are more than 1,500 hotels in the British capital, and given a recent consultants’ conclusion that “London hotels remain at the top of their game” despite concerns affecting the sector it is no surprise that The Standard, London on Euston Road is currently receiving its first reviews in the media and NoMad London will welcome guests next year. Both are firsts in London for their American owners and both are conversions – of Camden council’s Brutalist town hall annexe and the world-famous Bow Street magistrates’ court, respectively. Joining the latter in 2020 will be The Londoner on Leicester Square, a new build by Britain’s own Edwardian Group that is also at the luxury end of the market. I was one of a handful of balloted enthusiasts to have a very early preview, now that the building – as deep as it is tall – has both topped and ‘bottomed’ out.

    The site is that of the Leicester Square Theatre, built as such in 1930 but operated as a cinema for most of its life by the Odeon chain alongside its much more famous black-clad brother across the Square. After ‘twinning’ in the 1990s and becoming the home of the London Film Festival, the building was closed in 2015 and the plot sold. Demolition followed, the first step in an epic build that has been mostly underground but is now more visible. Woods Bagot are the architects with interiors by American designers Yabu Pushelberg; the engineering is by Arup and the main contractor is Blue Sky Building.

    Their goal is a hotel with 350 guest rooms and 15 suites, five restaurants and lounges, a rooftop bar, a ballroom or event space for around a thousand people, and a spa and wellness centre. Odeon will return to the site with a two-screen cinema operating under the firm’s Luxe sub-brand. The catch is that most of these amenities will be underground – a long way underground, in a six-floor, 30-metre basement that is the deepest in habitable commercial use in the city and which took two years to complete. Understanding the three-dimensional challenge that this presented was the theme of the tour. We began at bottom.

    Four levels down sits the spa, with a pool surrounded by private ‘cabanas’ and a sauna. Currently merely a heavily-waterproofed concrete box, the beginnings of its final form were just about discernible with a bit of thought and a useful virtual reality program that allowed us to move a tablet around the space and see what it will look like on screen. Visuals of the final fit-out are intriguing but embargoed, though it is not I think giving too much away to say that a cool palette, coffered ceiling and clever tricks with light evoked an ancient Roman feel, appropriate for London. One of the cinema screens is on the same level but acoustically separated from this area; below are two further floors of technical equipment with another 30 metres of piles below that.

    The entire basement is surrounded by a sophisticated drainage and water management system to handle the constant seepage that is inescapable at these depths. More than 65,000 cubic metres of clay was excavated to form it, and careful monitoring of neighbouring buildings, a complex propping operation and the discovery of a previously unknown utility tunnel were also involved. Height restrictions above ground and the space required by the overall programme required plant to be placed at depth for the most part rather than on the roof – Building Information Modelling was used to fit everything it but there have still been some challenges to both the construction and the architecture.

    On the next floor up but still three storeys below ground, the double-height, multi-functional event space is one of the highlights of this process. It was created by the craning in of six steel trusses, each weighing around 50 tonnes and the length of two double decker busses (bespoke platforms and vehicles were necessary). These transfer the weight of the above-ground structure to the perimeter walls and thus allow for a column-free space here. They also house building services and are stressed for suspended loads to assist with product launches and the like – servicing of the building will from a ground level loading bay via a vehicle lift and goods lifts. The building’s mechanical, electrical and plumbing will be state of the art and we saw one of the risers that will house them – a vertiginous concrete shaft big enough to house at least two lifts that was actually awaiting bundles of cables, pipes and ducts.

    This floor will be connected to those above by a feature stair of steel and painted bronze that will twist its way up a large stairwell, touching the edges only at the concrete slabs. This is the core of the circulation route through the public parts of the building, and it ends at the second floor beneath a glazed atrium roof. A ‘veil’ of rigid rods of three differing sections will act as its visual and physical balustrade. Further circulation will be by 13 lifts and two escalators. Half of the space within The Londoner will be devoted to what the trade calls F&B, or food and beverage, areas. These and other spaces will be opened to the public, in response to Westminster Council’s planning desires – the architects state that the hotel’s role is to offer “an escape from the sometimes hectic atmosphere found in an urban environment,” though there is perhaps some irony in this being undeniably necessary in the hectic tourist trap of Leicester Square.

    The hotel lobby is hard to visualise currently, although some beautifully finished polished pre-cast concrete columns are notable. The warren of partition walls on the upper floors are being completed as guest rooms – conventionally planned, they have semi-open bathrooms in coloured ceramic, one-way mirrors and a reflective panel above the floor-to-ceiling windows to bring more light in.

    On floor eight, which will be the highest level of the building in general use, a ‘floating’ outdoor platform projects into the void at the top of the atrium. A sliding fabric roof will provide protection from but also direct sight of the sky. This will become part of a sequence of lounge-type spaces on this level that will also include a glass-fronted lookout bar. The lack of a genuine roof terrace is a surprise but the resulting compromise results from the limitations mentioned earlier. On the very top-most floor, which we reached by a quick jaunt in the builders’ hoist, is the penthouse suite. Spanning two floors and articulated here as a projecting tower at the corner of the building, it is on the same level as similar features on other buildings in the area such as the dome of Renton Howard Wood Levin’s reconstructed Criterion block at Piccadilly Circus. The massing of the rest of the block, as seen in renderings, is muscular in order to achieve those vital programmatic criteria.

    The exterior is still shrouded but glimpses could be had of the Portland stone and – in the window reveals – thousands of blue faience tiles that, stitched together, will make up what is being considered as the building’s artwork, another planning requirement. By artist Ian Monroe, the tiles were designed using origami before progressing to foam mock ups and then the digital realm. Treated as a rainscreen, the pieces are fixed with open joints on the upper floors.

    The work put in to The Londoner is obvious, even with a year to go until opening. Much will depend on its interiors. Judgement of these and its architectural success will have to await the first check-in.

    With thanks to Woods Bagot architects, Blue Sky Building and the London Festival of Architecture. Images by Woods Bagot, McGee, Chris Rogers

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  • 'The Hunt'

    A small country town with long-established traditions and customs; a close-knit community where everyone knows everyone else; families whose children are loved by others as though they were their own… In such a place rumour, suggestion and misunderstanding have particular power. David Farr‘s stage adaptation of the 2012 Danish film The Hunt, which was directed by Thomas Vinterberg and written by him and Tobias Lindholm, explores these points at the Almeida Theatre under the direction of Rupert Goold.

    Teacher Lucas (Tobias Menzies) busies himself at the primary school whilst fighting with his ex-wife over access to their teenage son. The parents of two small children, Peter and Clara, have again failed to pick them up and the kind and patient Lucas keeps them amused. As Lucas also busies himself tidying up, Peter shows Clara adult footage that lies almost-hidden on his father’s old mobile; shortly after, Clara gives Lucas a present, accompanied by some unsettlingly intimate gestures. Deftly, he deflects her attention with a respectful explanation and thinks nothing of it. He knows both families very well – indeed, there is a hint of a relationship as Karla’s outgoing mother finally arrives, whilst Peter’s father is Lucas’s hunting buddy and fellow lodge member. The moment passes.

    Except that it doesn’t. Clara, upset at the rejection and confused and conflicted about love, tells her headteacher a version of what happened, every element of which is the truth but which, as a whole, is not. The remainder of the play dramatizes the impact on Lucas, his family and his friends. As such the snowballing of Clara’s mistruth is well illustrated, with flakes added by others not helping, and the responses of the adults around the pair ring true.

    Menzies is superb, his usual underplaying and utterly believable performance style fitting the scenario perfectly. As Clara in the production I saw (the role is rotated between three young actresses), a quiet, serious Abbiegail Mills was astonishingly good, and the two make a good pair. Michele Austin convincingly conveys the bright enthusiasm of a dedicated headteacher, especially in her clever addresses to the audience at the start of each act, and Howard Ward is convincing as the school board member “with responsibility for this area”. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the cast play their scenes rather too broadly to fit in with these precedents, from Poppy Miller as Clara’s mother to Danny Kirrane as Peter’s father. Taken together and extended over the two acts, this mismatch begins to grate.

    The staging revolves – pun intended – around another of Es Devlin’s sets placed within the Almeida’s customarily bare auditorium and its turntable. Scenes take place in and around an enclosure shaped like a child’s idea of a house with walls of glass. The metaphor is obvious even without the switchable technology (or perhaps good old-fashioned lighting) that makes those walls instantly opaque, often accompanied by thunderous crashes on the soundtrack and flashes of the neon lighting that outlines its form. But there is a problem.

    Unlike Devlin’s exceptional work for Chimerica, The Nether and The Lehman Trilogy, the approach here, along with Goold’s uncertain sense of direction, doesn’t really work. Though permitting clever scene changes to occur, it is often unclear where scenes are supposed to be set or whether characters are leaving the place it represents or entering it. When the players crowd in to it en masse for the climax, set in the town church, it is hard to suspend disbelief. There is much running, on and off stage, around it, even – remarkably – inside the house, in a kind of slow-motion, but much of this starts to seem comedic rather than dramatic. An additional thematic thread, of the mystical aspects of the woodland, overburdens events unnecessarily.

    After two hours I was struggling to focus, and to draw clarity and meaning from the ending. Paring things down and focusing on emotions rather than actions would have assisted, along with – on this occasion – a calmer set design.

    Ultimately I found this a disappointment, even a frustration, an admittedly rare thing at the theatre that brought us Kings Charles III, Mary Stuart and more. If this was a hunt, I felt like its prey.

    The Hunt continues at the Almeida Theatre, London N1 until 3 August

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  • The Parallax View

    A Dutch academic has conducted a worldwide survey seeking to establish whether famous photographs are truly famous. Many represent moments of extreme drama, from wars or other conflicts, with most of those taken by the only person present. Or is that really the case? In truth, the results – and what they might mean – are less important than the knowledge of other images of or angles on these events, which might be similar but not as well known. Why? Because it is surely more relevant in today’s world of billions of images, fake news and immediate online circulation to examine the parallax or difference in the apparent position of an event when viewed along different lines of sight.

    Jeff Widener’s ‘Tank Man’ (top left, above) taken in Tiananmen Square was used in the research, and the Associated Press photographer’s picture has indeed come to be regarded as the defining image of those protests. But other people also took photographs of the same man, from different locations and other angles; the others are by (clockwise) Stuart Franklin (Magnum), Charlie Cole (Newsweek) and Arthur Tsang (Reuters) and the stories of three are caught in Patrick Witty’s superb piece for the New York Times. To add a further layer, Terril Jones, another AP journalist, only revealed his own take on the scene a few years ago:

    Also featured in the survey is a photograph of an astronaut on the Moon, as representative of that giant leap for mankind. It might thus be assumed to be a picture of the first man on that body, Neil Armstrong, but is in fact of Buzz Aldrin, his fellow lunar module crewman – Armstrong took it. Ironically this was probably the only time that the man who had just become the most famous person in the world was behind rather than in front of a camera from then on, though given Armstrong’s humble nature I suspect he secretly preferred that.

    One shot of a plane about to hit the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 was chosen. That others exist, as well as stills from video camera footage, is noted in the Guardian coverage. In that context it is perhaps worthy of comment that only a couple of frames, extracted from one CCTV camera’s output, exist to depict the aircraft that hit the Pentagon whilst not a single image of United 93 on its final flight into the Pennsylvania earth is known, and that this has given rise to conspiracy theories in the former case but solemn tributes in the latter.

    Joe Rosenthal’s famous photograph of US Marines hoisting a flag and pole on Iwo Jima in 1945 has a double shadow – not only was it also captured as a moving image by a military film crew, but the event itself was a repeat of the original flag-raising, which had occurred during the actual battle for the mountain on which it stands; this first raising too was itself photographed, by SSgt. Louis R. Lowery.

    Outside of the survey, Eddie Adams arrested the moment in which a member of the Viet Cong was killed by a South Vietnamese general in a photograph that defines the dual meanings of ‘shoot’. But this, too, was also filmed by a news cameraman, which gives greater context that only appears in additional images. So was the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald six years earlier; not only that, but Bob Jackson’s Pulitzer Prize-winning picture is invariably cropped, losing more than half of the image. The full frame is far richer.

    And it’s appropriate that the Guardian covered this, though I bet few on the paper realised – it’s more than 30 years since its brilliant TV advert about just this point was first screened.

    Question everything.

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  • Source code: The origins of cyberpunk cinema

    Cyberpunk is the sub-genre of speculative fiction dealing with high tech and low life, the pair generally united by a consensual electronic information flow that sometimes achieves consciousness. The term itself is generally regarded as having been coined by writer Bruce Bethke in 1983, with William Gibson its most well-known practitioner, although precursors stretch far back into literary history. Those twin tropes are now firmly established in film, from Ready Player One (2018) via Lucy (2014) to Inception (2010). Here too antecedents are to be found, the best in each decade called out in bold below. But what – and when – was the first cyberpunk film?

    The Millennium appears to have been a turning point, with Cypher and Minority Report (both 2002) and Avalon (2001) in the van of the rush and The Matrix (1999) announcing it, though either the little-known Xchange (2000) directed by Allen Moyle from a screenplay by Christopher Pelham or Abel Ferrara’s New Rose Hotel (1998) taken from Gibson’s short story might have been the catalyst had they been more successful.

    It was though a few years before this when one of the most accomplished productions appeared: Strange Days (1995), written by James Cameron and directed by his former wife Kathryn Bigelow. With characters ranging from a pop star to a bodyguard to a cop, all later intersecting, and a sensorium-recording device taken directly if without acknowledgement from Gibson, the basics were firmly in place. And though produced well before the conception of internet-enabled social media, the established power of television and the viral video – here inspired by the real-life Rodney King footage – supplied that connecting network.

    Elsewhere Robert Longo’s poorly-received Johnny Mnemonic (1995), the other cinematic adaptation of a Gibson work, also under-performed financially and critically although it deserves closer scrutiny for being rather more faithful to its source material than is commonly supposed and for the careful and credible design of the hardware used by its protagonist (even the boxes those devices come in).

    It is though necessary to go back to the mid- and early 1980s to find films imbued with the true qualities that made Gibson and his fellow cyberpunk writers so popular.

    The period saw two relevant blockbusters – RoboCop (1987) and The Terminator (1984). Both feature elements of cyberpunk – cynicism, corporate power versus the man in the street, advanced technological, an urban setting – though only the latter includes the information linkage, through the malevolent war-fighting computer Skynet. More interesting are the slew of similarly-themed yet individually fascinating films that appeared within just a few years at the start of the decade.

    Steven Lisberger’s Tron (1982) pre-figures RoboCop in essaying many of the same concerns, and arguably comes closer to Gibson’s mind’s-eye view of what cyberspace might be. The year was of course most notable for Ridley Scott’s sleeper cult classic-turned-landmark Blade Runner (1982), which looked to the filmic past for many of its cues even as it explored issues of life and death in an engrossing future. Moving from street vendors to billionaires using video phones, flying cars and more (the cop is there again), the all-seeing eye of the Esper police supercomputer fulfils the role of the omniscient network yet the artificial intelligence on show is organic rather than electronic.

    Scott’s visual effects supervisor Douglas Trumbull made Brainstorm (1981, released 1983), which like Strange Days 15 years later also revolved around a technology that allowed the recording of the entire human sensorium. Here the military-industrial complex is set against the purity of science and, ultimately, something more spiritual. Importantly, Trumbull wrote and directed the film with the express purpose of promoting his patented large-format Showscan film system, which he intended to create a shared, immersive visual environment – the majority of the film was to be shot in 35mm, with the Brainstorm device sequences filmed in 65mm at a wider ratio and run at 60 frames per second, more than twice the standard rate, to increase perceived resolution . The plan was not enacted but Trumbull was anticipating the use of IMAX for portions of Christopher Nolan and Michael Bay’s output.

    One film from the remarkable cross-over talents of director, screenwriter and novelist Michael Crichton and another that emerged from the low-budget, independent film movement are the next of significance in this chronology.

    Crichton’s Looker (1981) does, it’s true, dispense with the low-life element – its hero is a Beverley Hills plastic surgeon and his love interest a top model – but a plotline revolving around mass consumerism, media dominance and computer-generated avatars, plus the deployment of a light-pulse memory loss gun (surely inspired by Alfred Bester’s 1953 novel The Demolished Man, itself a prime slice of proto-cyberpunk) place it firmly on our continuum.

    John Carpenter’s Escape from New York (1981) certainly qualifies and might in fact be regarded as the quintessential cyberpunk film of the decade, with its cynical ex-soldier antihero perfectly bridging the attitudinal gap between the punk-criminal-zombie milieu inside Manhattan island prison and the black-clad, high-tech paramilitary police force outside. An ongoing World War 3, stealth jet glider and injectable explosives provide the necessary technological and cultural enhancement.

    Two films from the previous year, Scanners (1980) and Death Watch (1980), share horror traits (visceral and psychological respectively) but also explore big business’s manipulation of the masses via technology and the media. This saw cinematic cyberpunk echoing contemporary socio-politics, with fears over consumerism, the environment, corruption and profiteering driving protest in the real world. The previous decade’s films, too, reflected this kind of distrust and unrest, with a trio of entries to the fore.

    Norman Jewison directed the sublime Rollerball (1975) from William Harrison’s short story and script. Here the human spirit is placed in conflict with the crushing endeavours of a brutal future sport that is itself shaped by the global corporations that fund and organise it. Television once more provides the shared experience, the ingeniously realised Multivision also anticipating the optional multiple viewing angles available with today’s sports coverage. The power of the computer to connect the world is also now explicit even if the on-screen vision is of its time with a single mainframe. Japan is now seen as influential.

    In Soylent Green (1973) the disparate worlds of the corporate elite and those who service them again collide, as a put-upon detective (again) attempts to investigate a murder against a background of over-population, food shortages and radical, technological solutions to both. The contrast is so well defined that selection for this survey despite the complete absence of electronic media is acceptable. Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971) treads the same ground, taking the street life one step lower. Its gaudy, neon-lined street market and striking interior design cast a wide influence.

    Moving back another decade, the great exploitationist William Castle made the under-rated cyberpunk ancestor Project X (1968). Over-population is again key, but so is fear of Asian dominance. Crucially, genetic engineering, biological warfare, holographic viewing devices, memory manipulation and virtual environments all feature. Though it eschews any attempt to actually depict its own future setting, Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphaville (1965) still includes the low life-high tech conjunction and even a controlling central computer.

    Godard’s film also prompts the thought that cinematic cyberpunk might exist within or at least alongside film noir, with its intrigue of secrets and lies in urban settings of authority and cunter-authority. If so, is it too much of a stretch to suggest Kiss Me Deadly (1955), with its street-level characters assailed by representatives of much greater forces, hints of high-tech warfare and a certain briefcase as embryonic cyberpunk?

    But we must actually reach back much further, before World War 2, to complete our quest.

    Based on a play by Noel Pemberton Billing and directed by Maurice Elvey, High Treason (1929) is a geo-political drama set in the future. Competing power blocs, multi-national terrorists and a working class revolution are set against a leisure-saturated world of electronic dance music, and – half a century before Blade Runner – flying cars and video phones.

    Though High Treason is popularly held to be a British answer to a German film from three years earlier, I would contend that it is Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1926) that deserves to be viewed as the very first cyberpunk film. Its protagonist and antagonist span the full sociological distance between oppressed drone and rich plutocrat, technology is the enabler of the status quo and the revolt and the whole plays out within a famously absorbing megacity of towers above ground and cavernous basements below. Aerial freeways, trains and planes connect the former, with advanced telecommunications to fill in the gaps. And from a man peering over his newspaper whilst waiting in the street to the Japanese-influenced downtown drinking hole, from neon-drenched darkness to the aerial shot of a lofty cylindrical building, and from the domineering corporate giant in his eyrie to an erotic dance by a fake human, Metropolis is a virtual blueprint for Scott’s masterpiece in almost every respect and for most of those that followed.

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  • In the dock: the Square Mile’s new courthouse

    Eric Parry Architects is to design a new civil and criminal courthouse and police station in the City of London. Located on the south side of Fleet Street opposite the former Daily Telegraph building, it will open in 2025. Although handling the routine caseload expected of any court, the new complex is being promoted as specialising in financial and cyber crime and helping to keep the City a “secure place to conduct business”. Any courthouse is a uniquely challenging architectural job; how might the special requirements of creating one for the Square Mile be met?

    The complex (un-named as yet though ‘City of London Justice Centre’ suggests itself) will contain 18 courtrooms and replace the Mayor’s and City of London County Court at Guildhall Buildings, Basinghall Street and the City of London Magistrates’ Court in Queen Victoria Street, both historic structures. A footnote to a recent consultation document on wider court estate changes stated that the new building will contain “additional Crown Court capacity”. And there will also be a new City of London police station, presumably in addition to the City force’s current, 20th century, stations in Bishopsgate, Snow Hill and Wood Street.

    The conjunction is unusual. Courthouses in England & Wales are generally built to serve a single function – magistrates’, crown or county. The latter two were occasionally joined together as ‘combined courts’ in the 1980s and 90s since both types had long been administered by the Civil Service, but the commissioning, staffing and operation of magistrates’ courts remained independent of government – taking place under the auspices of local magistrates’ courts committees – until as recently as 2005. The creation of Her Majesty’s Courts & Tribunals Service (HMCTS), a Civil Service agency, in that year ended this split and, along with subsequent moves need to cut costs, has seen more court buildings converted or designed from scratch to serve multiple case types. Co-locating a courthouse with a police station remains very rare, however, and this will be the first example in London since Lavender Hill Police Station and South Western Magistrates’ Court opened in 1963.

    In a range of ways, then, the new complex speaks to the very specialised nature of the City of London, and this will be reflected in its organisational structure. As with the Central Criminal Court (“the Old Bailey”) and the existing City magistrates’ court, the Corporation of London will own the freehold but HMCTS will run the building. The budget for the project is reported as being comparable to the Rolls Building on Fetter Lane, a new home for a arrange of commercial and other civil courts, which cost around £250-300m when completed in 2011. How that cost was split between the corporation and HMCTS is not known.

    HMCTS has been redefining the standards for future court building design but publication of an updated Courts and Tribunals Design Guide is well overdue. The current version is not available to the public either, although it used to be. Nothing has been released by either the client or Eric Parry Architects to indicate even their initial thinking.

    Nevertheless, we can make some informed guesses about the likely form of the building based on careful examination of the current legal landscape and its architecture. First, what will it contain?

    HMCTS’s ongoing digitisation of both criminal and civil jurisdictions means that thousands of cases and applications are now dealt with entirely online or via ‘hearings’ that actually take place in chambers with no parties present. The aim is for “more opportunities to settle disputes – and to progress cases – that do not depend on travelling and physically attending court”. But hearing rooms, office space (though not, perhaps, as much as before, since centralised Court and Tribunal Service Centres are starting to handle back-office tasks) and cells will still be needed for the courthouse element. They will be connected by the strictly segregated circulation routes for staff, judges, prisoners, witnesses – especially where vulnerable – and the public that are the unique feature of such a building.

    Compared to older premises much larger public entrance lobbies and waiting areas are now common. These also house far more facilities than was the case historically, such as cafés, accessible toilets, faith rooms and spaces for supportive agencies. An original and robust solution to the need for temporary information that dispenses with the usual accumulation of flyers, posters and impromptu notices tacked to a pinboard or imprisoned, fading, behind glass cases would be welcome. Public charging points for mobile devices might also be seen, and at a basic level many more power and data outlets will be needed throughout any new building.

    Information technology provision within courts has massively increased in recent years, again in public areas but also as an inherent part of the criminal justice process. Projecting this trend forward five years should see the City building equipped with display screens and other types of dynamic signage, wi-fi and 5G signals, cordless telephony for staff (already present to a degree) and video-link or conferencing systems closer to the kind of experience marketed by Cisco to private companies as ‘telepresence’. By the time the new building opens, the very cautious relaxation of the prohibition on filming inside courthouses that has seen UK Supreme Court proceedings and some Scottish deliberations televised may have continued to the point where at least minimal facilities for broadcast media might have to be anticipated. All of this, along with the recognition of past failures and the rapid obsolescence of technology, would prompt a plea for much-improved methods of accessing, maintaining, repairing and replacing such equipment, this last activity occurring much more frequently than in the past.

    Where courtrooms are encountered, wood panelling, the royal crest and raised or at least physically divided seating is still common but flexibility of use is now being recognised as key, such that a room can be used for a jury trial, magistrates’ sitting or a tribunal hearing with no or minimal adjustment. Furniture might thus be moveable, at least in part, and the vertical hierarchy reduced or adjusted.

    Unknown in the current estate, visual, aural and other enhancements to promote the wellbeing of staff, the judiciary and users is surely overdue in this most stress-inducing environment.

    Second, what might it look like? Speaking in July 2018, the Corporation’s Policy Chairman described the new complex as the City’s “second iconic courthouse after the Old Bailey” despite this being months before the architect had even been chosen. Away from press headlines, the actual result will be conditioned as much by the site as it will by the aesthetics of the designer or the particular requirements of a judicial building.

    That site is on a considerable slope and currently occupied by two office buildings that are typical of their type and era. To the north, 68-71 Fleet Street sits on the corner of Whitefriars Street and was bought by the Corporation in late 2018 specifically to enable this project. It is a Post-Modern block of 1986 by the Thomas Saunders Partnership that backs onto Hanging Sword Alley, which runs between Whitefriars Street and Salisbury Court to the east and is here a sizeable courtyard behind the other buildings on Fleet Street. Also overlooking it and stretching downhill to the south is the Modernist Fleetbank House, finished in 1975 and by C. Edmund Wilford & Sons. This is a large, roughly T-shaped block finished in glass and granite with a spine rising to a dozen or so storeys but arms that are much lower. These are also set back from the edge of the plot, which tapers to a point where a further, stepped passageway leads through the building and down to Primrose Hill (or, in the other direction, up into Salisbury Square, a quiet public space to the east that is linked to Hanging Sword Alley by walking under another wing of Fleetbank House).

    Since 68-71 Fleet Street and Fleetbank House do not actually touch and are divided on Whitefriars Street by other buildings that are not part of the scheme, it must be assumed that the majority of Hanging Sword Alley will be built over to form a contiguous plot albeit with public access retained by means of a tunnel through the new building. There are several recent precedents for this, in the immediate vicinity and elsewhere in the City, whilst Lutyens’ acclaimed former Reuters building on the other side of Salisbury Court shows the ease with which this task was accomplished almost a century ago in the hands of an exceptional architect.

    The southern passageway might also survive, although a more generous gesture here – and a fitting one for a civic building – would be to not rebuild the short ‘arm’ of Fleetbank House under which this alley passes at all, and instead landscape the connection between the Square and Primrose Hill. There is, again, a precedent in Foster + Partners’ work at 10 Gresham Street, where the new building was separated from its neighbour for the first time and a new alley created. These points aside, the overall massing across much of the plot is very likely to increase, subject to rights of light for neighbouring buildings and the St Paul’s Heights rules.

    Security will obviously be paramount, although this is to an extent at odds with the need for openness. The City’s experience of major terrorist bombs is, thankfully, a generation past, but more recent events in London and elsewhere have their effect on the design of buildings and even their surroundings.

    The relatively tight urban street grid of Fleet Street will probably preclude any narrowing of the two roads bordering the site (the better to keep vehicles away), although the Square Mile’s now-mature ‘Ring of Steel’ network of CCTV and associated physical restrictions to entry will form the first line of defence. Closer to, government advice is that “structurally enhanced bus shelters, lamp columns, benches or cycle racks” should be used to prevent a “penetrative (ramming) or close proximity (parked or encroachment)” attack. We can thus expect an unbroken line of bollards to be installed along the kerb line of Fleet Street at least, and the growth on the City’s streets of reinforced barriers disguised as planters may also continue.

    Underground car parks have been prohibited in courthouse design for several decades, although the City discourages all except bicycle parking in new developments in any event. A secure van dock where custody prisoners are received will certainly be needed; it is highly likely that this will be shared with the police station and located on Whitefriars Street, where the current loading bay for Fleetbank House can be found (the police station entrance could also fit here but might be more appropriate for Salisbury Square).

    Setting the main courthouse entrance back from the street a little would provide another useful ‘stand-off’ as well as some civic presence, especially if a corner entrance can be contrived. Inside, an atrium – a feature once synonymous with only commercial architecture – is now to be expected, with enough space before access to the building proper for the necessary security screening of visitors to take place. This is a common failing with even quite new city-centre magistrates’ courts, where large queues, inadequate, temporary facilities and the risk of ‘false negatives’ can often be encountered.

    Eric Parry’s practice has worked extensively in the City of London and the wider capital, with the new Hall for the Leathersellers Livery Company, 5 Aldermanbury Square on London Wall and 30 Finsbury Square (technically in Islington) notable in recent years. Forthcoming is 1 Undershaft, if built to become the second tallest building in London. Though lacking an obviously identifiable style, many of its buildings have featured a single material and a fairly simple envelope. Most are visually quiet though there are occasional moments of unexpected boldness, such as the polychromic cornice of One Eagle Place in Piccadilly or the Deconstructivist roofscape at 10 Fenchurch Avenue in the Square Mile.

    Even without this preference for reticence, the very nature of the job will probably preclude anything audacious. Whilst some of the country’s newer courthouses, such as the drum-shaped Cambridge Crown Court (Austin-Smith:Lord, 2004) or Manchester Civil Justice Centre (Denton Corker Marshall, 2007) with its ‘open drawer’ glass façade are striking, the majority are bland, awkward exercises in value engineering and mock-Classicising grandeur – in London Stratford Magistrates’ Court (Roughton & Partners, 1994) epitomises this problem. More useful as a possible pattern is the capital’s Westminster Magistrates’ Court on Marylebone Road (Hurd Rolland Partnership, 2011), which by chance compares well to the new City project by programme. Its successes and failures might also prove instructive.

    Also positioned on an urban corner site with sizable planning constraints to consider, it was, too, required to contain not only multiple hearing rooms and related facilities but also ancillary accommodation for other criminal justice purposes. The result is that its densely-packed bulk gives rise to sometimes clumsy back-of-house spaces and often complex circulation. The solidly elegant hearing rooms reflect increased public expectations in this area and the waiting areas are bright, but the restless main façade, for all its attempts at civic dignity, appears to strain at the seams.

    So it may be silence in court for now on Fleet Street, but in a few years’ time such a visible civic project as this is unlikely to require much deliberation before the verdict is pronounced.

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  • The Archigram Opera

    More than sixty years ago six Brits came together to form Archigram, an architectural collective whose varied experiences, age and backgrounds found common purpose in an explosion of thoughts, ideas, designs and schemes that simply ARE the Sixties and early Seventies. Exploring the world of today (back then) and what it might be, they took inspiration from technology (their name comes from ARCHItecture + teleGRAM), science fiction, organics, pop culture and more, and envisaged walking cities, pop-up cities, houses that you could wear cars that emerged from houses and much, much more. All of this was put ‘out there’ through their self-published magazine and a multimedia presentation of slides, music, narration and sounds that was the Archigram Opera. Last night at the Architectural Association, three of the surviving founders introduced the new, digitised version of what proved to be stunning split-screen experience, best listened to with your choice of period rock music playing in the background – here’s mine, along with some shots from the show.

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  • 'The Lehman Trilogy'

    It took 150 years for the financial giant that was Lehman Brothers to be built, beginning with the 1844 arrival in America of Hayum Lehmann, followed by his brother Mendel and their brother Mayer. It all ended in 2008 and almost took the world with it, but this brilliant, sell-out play takes us back to that first moment when a German immigrant set up a store in Alabama and started to think of expansion…

    Co-incidentally or not, in the lobby of the National Theatre you can pick up a free copy of a financial newspaper containing an article about bullying, arrogant bankers before taking your seat. Over the next three hours Stefano Massini does much the same, rewinding history before fast-forwarding us through a century and a half of ingenuity, humour, honour and ambition later contaminated by avarice, contempt and ego. The journey is a thrilling one, as Hayum becomes Henry, Mendel becomes Emmanuel and Mayer joins them both in a land of opportunity.

    The title does double duty, describing the play’s three-act structure and sibling subject, but arguably takes in a third meaning as a trio of wars visit hell and damnation but also possibilities. As supplying goods to slaves and plantation owners turns into raw cotton trading, post-Civil War reconstruction opens new doors. Coffee and the railways move the brothers’ business into a new century, when communications and banking beckon. After that third conflict computers and electronic trading ally with less substantial products built with electrons, until the house of cards so made collapses.

    In the programme Ben Power succinctly describes the approach taken when adapting Massini, noting the attempt to preserve “his vision, his wit and his humanity”. Regardless of who wrote what line, the text that results – part thought, part narration, part speech – resonates with all three.

    At the very start, the newly-arrived Henry is awed by what he calls the “music box” of America where, for every door that closes, another opens. He sells fabric from his humble shop, by the yard but more often by the inch to even more humble clients. At this rate, he muses, his debt will take “three more years of inches” to clear.

    The language of money is heard throughout, though almost never the dust-dry technical terms – collateralized debt obligations, subprime mortgages – that would ultimately bring everything down. Instead the brothers yearn for the “zeros, zeros, zeros” they see at the New York Cotton Exchange, and “trust me” becomes their mantra over repeated generations. As their wealth and influence piles up, so do the phrases expressing this. “One runs Lehmans, the other a gold mine” comments one onlooker. Wondering which descendent would help out in another catastrophic situation, another ponders that “Noah had to save the world but at least he didn’t have competition”; and the world of finance is “a club for bankers”. But that humanity Power cited is there as well. “Growing old,” we hear, “is to inhabit a new land” quite different from one’s native territory, where a new language is to be learned.

    All of this is delivered by three actors playing – exceptionally well – not just the three brothers but also those same men at different ages, occasionally each other, and also their sons, grandsons, girlfriends, wives, clients and partners. It is brought together in an astonishingly fluid melange that moves between accent, vocabulary, point of view, gender, time and space with supreme facility.

    Each of the principals brings a unique talent to the production. Simon Russell Beale’s solidity and gravitas is necessary and effective as Henry builds his business and anchors the events to come. This is though nicely undercut from time to time: by Henry’s wonder on arrival in America, through a homely, proprietorial guided tour of the shop and – best of all – when Russell Beale inhabits the first of several female roles for the cast as the brothers find their wives. Ben Miles is superb as Emanuel, the “arm” to Henry’s head, with a powerful delivery that is also modified endlessly as he essays additional characters. A highlight sees him playing the three year old son of his brother, sitting on his father’s lap and tickling his beard. Here, too, is Massini and Power’s humanity. Adam Godley equals Russell Beale in versatility and perhaps outshines him in humour and energy respectively as he scrolls rapidly and utterly brilliantly through a gallery of potential women for Philip Lehman to date, and later maintains a manic, desperate Twist routine as the aging Bobbi Lehman who, like those around him, feels the need to keep up the “dance” of moving money.

    In a key scene in the final act, the senior Lehmans are old and frail, the startlingly clever but coldly calculating son Philip keen to exploit this and move the bank into new areas that they simply don’t understand. “You have employees to do the work,” he tells them, “you just have to sign it off”. It is the moment when the old world gave way to the new, and when the insistent greed that is portrayed in the later stages of the play future took root.

    The play is performed in a space of beguiling simplicity but also hidden complexity designed by Es Devlin. Elevated slightly on the Lyttleton’s revolve is a rectangular box of slim steel beams and – for the most part – floor to ceiling glazing. Within, one large and three small rooms are minimally furnished: office chairs, a long conference table, a chrome lamp, an umbrella stand. It is a corner of a Wall Street tower from the middle of the last century, a slice of Miesian Modernism whose perfection is marred only by boxes – a few dozen white cardboard boxes, of the kind we in Britain call archive boxes but which are properly known as bankers’ boxes – a sly touch. These, moved by the cast as needed, are combined props and flats. They serve as seats, counters, pulpits and more even before their final, moving appearance as themselves in a recreation of the eponymous bank’s final day. The ceiling of this ‘office’ provides almost all of the lighting, varying at need from spot to flood, colour to monochrome, bright to dark, and the entire construction turns on cue, revealing and concealing as the story unfolds, the music box of Henry Lehman’s mind brought to life. Behind, a panorama sweeping around the entire rear of the stage receives projected images, still and moving, that complement the action. It is the final entry in another trilogy, after Devlin’s remarkable work on Chimerica and The Nether.

    Sam Mendes directs with a flawless eye for motions that move the actors and the audience alike. The former sit and stand and step and lie and walk effortlessly up and down, in and out, and around and about. In several scenes Mendes, surely drawing on his cinematic career, has his actors walk through the box as it rotates, keeping pace with its movement as it turns and thus effectively standing still, to create a kind of tracking shot.

    With only two scenes set in 2008, the first and the last, both achieving great pathos, The Lehman Trilogy takes the brothers and us forward and backward only to end up where we began. It is – or should be, and especially to those featured in that newspaper article – a salutary lesson, albeit beautifully delivered.

    The Lehman Trilogy, by Stefano Massini, adapted by Ben Power, a co-production with Neal Street Productions, finishes tonight at the National Theatre but transfers to the Piccadilly Theatre, London W1 from 11 May 2019.

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  • 'Mission: Impossible - Fallout' (2018)

    Another year, another mission. The sixth Mission: Impossible film has been promoted as the biggest yet, with co-producer/star Tom Cruise actually flying a helicopter and undertaking a parachute jump for real, both on camera. But this entry in the series also has – for the first time – continuity of writer/director (Christopher McQuarrie) and supporting characters across consecutive films, which sets up additional expectations. Add in its leading actor incurring an injury that held up shooting for several weeks and apparent use of the IMAX family of formats once again for the filming itself, and the result has a more than usual level of expectation for the viewer.

    Perhaps because of this, a nondescript night-time alley in what the screen captions as Belfast followed by Ethan Hunt (Cruise) receiving a lengthy briefing projected onto the wall of an empty industrial space is a curiously pedestrian starting point given the stunningly dynamic opening of #5, Ghost Nation. The exposition-heavy recording is nominally to prepare Hunt for his mission but its principal purpose is of course to set up the audience, and yet for me its attempts to introduce two main characters and the inevitable terrorist cell felt uncomfortably like stuffing too much into a single plotline even at this very early stage.

    The oddly quotidian mood continues when Hunt and the IMF team of Benji Dunn (Simon Pegg) and Luther Stickell (Ving Rhames) appear in Berlin for an exchange of money and three plutonium bomb cores; despite these high-stakes items, the dull setting (another industrial setting, another night scene) and unambitious action (a shoot-out, and this confusingly presented) frustrate. Yes, the final sequence does link back to the franchise’s televisual origins (though also to a very specific episode of the Gerry Anderson puppet series Terrahawks (1983-86, interestingly) and raise the stakes somewhat, but by the time the latest rearrangement of Lalo Schiffrin’s driving theme tune begins I was already shifting in my seat.

    After the necessary introduction of new character August Walker (Henry Cavill), CIA “hammer” to Hunt’s “scalpel” and already nicely ambiguous in his loyalties, the first of those big action scenes unfolds as Hunt and Walker drop in on Paris’s Grand Palais exhibition venue via a military-style parachute jump. Both suit up and, after the mutual needling that serves as cinematic shorthand for their spiky relationship, leap out of the aircraft and enter a freefall… All very familiar, except that when Hunt, following the bullish Walker who has already jumped, runs toward the camera and both continue into thin air in the same shot, the plane they were in vanishing behind him into a twilight sky, we are actually watching Tom Cruise himself skydiving out of the back of a real C-17 jet transport several thousand feet over the United Arab Emirates, where the sequence was shot. A full-face helmet – the latter an absolute necessity in such circumstances, the former invented especially for this film – allows us to confirm that it’s the actor and not a stuntman (Cruise made over a hundred practice drops in training).

    The mid-air tussles that follow, again not original in themselves, are nevertheless impressively mounted given Cruise’s continuing presence as Hunt (Cavill did not take part) and the contemporary filming techniques used to record them. And yet I couldn’t help feeling that there was something lacking here, some subtle cue that would let my mind accept that that was a genuine improvement on, say, replacing a stunt person’s face with a digital image of the actor as was done a generation ago in Jurassic Park (1993). Churlish I know, but symptomatic of what was to come.

    The encounters that follow within the Grand Palais – itself introducing Paris as one of the major locations for the film – only served to cause more confusion as to the identity, motivation and relationships between the various characters introduced, including Alanna Mitsopolis/the White Widow (Vanessa Kirby). An impressive fight sequence holds the interest, not least thanks to the remarkable skills of stuntman Liang Ying, though once again it is both conceptually and aesthetically similar to an almost identical scene in True Lies (1995)

    One character and actress whose reintroduction is very welcome is that of Ilsa Faust as played by Rebecca Ferguson. The actress stole the previous film and her initial – surprise – appearance here with a snappy fight sequence coming soon after bode well. Similarly Solomon Lane, a disturbingly gimlet-eyed, tangle-bearded Sean Harris, also returns, though the manner of that happening disclose further misjudgements on the part of the makers.

    The violent armed rescue of Lane from a prison convoy is seen in soft focus and with muted sound, something also evident in earlier shots and used throughout to represent a memory, dream or other work of the imagination. It is employed here to reinforce one of the film’s many sub-plots, this one about Cruise’s empathy being a weakness rather than a strength. But given clips of this sequence without blurring (which was presumably applied in post) appear in the trailer and given the actual rescue that takes place in the story is rather different, it feels as though McQuarrie is having his cake and eating it, cramming in two action scenes for the price of one. In addition that definitive rescue involves yet another ‘loan’ from someone else’s work, since the manner in which Hunt places Lane’s prison van at the IMF’s disposal is taken directly from the Robbie Williams short film Rob By Nature (2001), effectively the music video for the single The Road To Mandalay.

    Admittedly this sequence debuts on film one of Paris’s most striking buildings highly impressively; the helicopter that carried Lane into the city earlier lands on the rooftop helipad of the Ministère de l’Economie et des Finances, which rises from the Seine itself, and the convoy that takes him into the streets from there accurately exits the ministry via its ceremonial doors. It is here, though, also that the mystery over the format used to shoot and exhibit Fallout comes to the surface.

    Aerial photography of that helicopter cries out for the 15 perf/70mm IMAX treatment (as indeed did the parachute drop, where it would have really helped sell Cruise as performer), and indeed various action scenes in Paris and London show clear differences in the framing, direction and stock used from those in the remainder of the film, but no information source confirms its use and in Britain at least the only IMAX presentations are – irritatingly – in 3D digital format. It is clear that more needs to come out about this, which is perhaps one other aspect of a slightly troubled production.

    Cruise once more does his own stunts in the car and bike chase that ensues, but the choice of locations now feels like a tourist board decision rather than an artistic one. There are, too, many incidents where both the geography and sense of a scene are less than transparent, including when Lane is clearly hit by bullets yet immediately afterward appears entirely unharmed and during a firefight in (yet another) dark underground vault that is hopelessly confused.

    In London, this same baffling obsession with anonymous, generic studio interiors poorly intercut with obvious, glamourous locations continues, with the very first shot in that city taking place in Paternoster Square, the next in one of those brick studio sets, and the rest across the rooftops of St Paul’s, Blackfriars station and Tate Modern including an admittedly breath-taking jump by Cruise that led to his accident (it is this shot that is kept in the film).

    The final act moves to Kashmir, and involves a hunt (pun intended) for twinned nuclear devices that must be defused simultaneously (this yet another rip-off, this time from an episode of the TV series Strike Back) and the inevitable countdown set piece. It is this that leads to the helicopter chase for which Cruise sent months learning to fly. It may seem churlish to criticise this too as unnecessary but despite many shots from interior cameras prominently and pointedly showing Cruise alone in the cockpit I barely noticed, thanks to the frenetic cutting, the absurdity of his being able to escape continuous machine gun fire from his adversary and the fact that whilst Cruise the actor may know how to fly, Hunt the character does not, as is made clear in the script, which renders the entire scene unbelievable and perversely detracts from the actor’s obvious achievement personally.

    In parallel, a different confrontation takes place on the ground which involves a level and type of violence – slow throttling, hanging – that left a very unpleasant taste in the mouth. Earlier another character stabs someone to death with a butterfly knife, and the tonal variances of these scenes compared to the remainder of the film sat uncomfortably with me.

    I’ve not even mentioned the return of Hunt’s former wife, the marginalisation of Ilsa Faust as a result and the casual treatment of her own storyline, all of which seem like unneeded complication in context.

    This film was a huge disappointment. Its plot is overly complex, individual beats do not form a coherent whole and there are too many steals from other works. Cavil is good, but many of the supporting characters – Lane, Faust – waste those parts and the actors inhabiting them. The direction and editing are choppy and there are evident mismatches in style and aesthetic between the grand statement scenes, the action done for real and the awkward interiors. The formulaic excess of the finale especially is simply absurd, and it is surely significant that McQuarrie has publicly admitted cutting at least one entire action scene from the film after preview audiences complained of too much action.

    A calmer, leaner story with far less going on would have foregrounded what are actually worthwhile plot points, such as a notorious villain whom no-one has seen, consideration of whether a wrong done for the right reason is justifiable and inter-agency conflict, whilst letting those real-life action scenes shine. Perhaps a fitting conclusion is the irony of a film that is all about illusion and misdirection suffering from the fact that the pervasive use of CGI across the entertainment industry has made it almost impossible to convince an audience that what they are seeing is actually real.

    Mission: Impossible - Fallout remains on general release

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Chris Rogers writer on architecture and visual culture

Click blog images to expand; pre-Sept 2011 posts here

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Chris is one of more than a dozen specialists whose essays fill this fresh examination of the charms of Paris, which is edited by John Flower. Looking at the French capital's history, culture and districts, each item can be read in just half a minute and is beautifully illustrated with its own collage-style spread.

The Ivy Press, 2018

Hardback, 160 pages | ISBN 9781782405443

£14.99

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