The day would always be a real event with the finest local musical talent including Brilliant Pink, Abstract Joy, Kick Asteroid, Death Bang Party and on one occasion The Kitchens Of Distinction whose set included fantastic versions of Joy Division’s “Dead Souls” and Bowie’s “Heroes”. Their frontman, Patrick was Maybury Street’s most famous resident as reflected by KoD’s later album track “On Tooting Broadway Station”.

Being a compulsive hoarder, it didn’t take me long to dig out the programme from the 1992 Longley Fest (see left). There used to be a great website dedicated to the history of Maybury Fest but it seems to have disappeared. If , by chance, the curator of that site stumbles upon this page – get it back up! Also, anyone who has any videos of the event (I know for a fact 1990 and 91 were filmed) please get ‘em on Youtube.

The first thing I will say is that the controversy surrounding this film, though understandable is misplaced. The level of graphic violence is no worse than say, for example the opening scene of “Goodfellas” but because it is directed towards their procreative organs, many will instantly find it more disturbing.  For me, the sight of a person repeatedly smashing their own head against a toilet bowl is equally, if not more disturbing to view. If you want something truly horrific why not try “Irreversible“? As for the other accusation – to dismiss Von Trier as a misogynist on the strength of this film would be trite and disingenuous.

The reason I chose to make a rare visit to the cinema was not because of these controversial aspects but largely because of the accusations of “pretension” which have been levelled at “Antichrist”. There is no greater crime to the ill-informed, blinkered critic than pretension and you can usually guarantee this as an endorsement. Von Trier is an artist which is why people like Baz Bamigboye will never be able to understand his motivation and feel that they have the right to demand that he “justifies” his work. He is an artist in the same way as Tarkovsky and Bergman were but his work has evolved their vision to a new level of emotional connection. “Mirror” and “Persona” were the two reference points that sprang to me whilst watching “Antichrist” but it was a strange though not altogether surprising shock to see the onscreen dedication to Andrei Tarkovsky just before the rolling of the credits. Apparently this caused much outrage and derision at Cannes – I have no idea why. Tarkovsky was a visual poet and Von Trier imitates this style successfully,  whether in the enigmatic quality of the bleak location or the cinematography of the heavily stylised monochrome epilogue and prologue that bookend the main body of the film. The epilogue in particular, contains scenes of such stark beauty that it is almost overdone – “gilding the lily” would be an apt phrase perhaps. In retrospect, this is a necessity to better illustrate the harrowing degradation of the next four chapters.

As with “Mirror” you can try hard to understand the messages or try to make sense of the narrative but you won’t. Von Trier is on record at Cannes as saying this film is a “dark dream” not to be unravelled. There are certain themes and clues such as the concept of gynocide which sprang from the idea that women are fundamentally evil and the “she” character’s role (or not) in the death of their son. There is also the concept of Adam and Eve in Eden (the only characters in the film are named as “He” and “She” in the credits), the invented constellation and even the bizarre talking fox scene but they do not add up to a clear picture. If anything, the epilogue puts an even more oblique seal on the whole premise.  Ultimately, as with Tarkovsky one should sit back and appreciate the visual alchemy whilst not dwelling too deeply on explanations as these are deeply personal works.

“Antichrist” is not a horror film as a lot of  reviewers have described it,  it’s no more a horror movie than “Repulsion” is.  The term “horror film” brings with it a whole host of genre-specific traits and “Antichrist” only ticks a few of these boxes. Yes, it is scary and there is even an element of the supernatural about it but it borrows from the genre more than being a part of it. Maybe it’s a knee-jerk to the (admittedly baffling) title.

“Antichrist” did upset me and it did shock me because it upset me. I’m not talking about the graphic scenes, what I am referring to is a strange and profound sense of loss that I experienced at two distinct points. If you have experienced any real trauma in your life you will re-live it through this film and as far as I’m concerned, as a work of art that makes it a triumph.

The first thing that draws your attention is the unusual handwriting, ornate and peppered with random capitalisation. Then the circular symbols and enigmatic C.A. sign-off in the bottom left. Who is Helen, will we ever get to hear her recordings, why is she making them and why is she so keen to let us all know about them? What does the C.A. stand for?

The second note provides an unsophisticated proposed answer to these questions but also appears to come from someone who is familiar with one of Helen’s alter-egos.

More theories and examples of Helen/Sue/Jane’s work can be found here

The Bristol Museum & Gallery already houses a fairly impressive collection of significant works including the likes of Renoir, Pissaro, Courbet, Constable and Gainsborough so the presence of such a high profile event may not be as incongruous as it seems. The Banksy exhibit is split between a dedicated art of Banksy gallery and a large smattering of guerilla works that “re-mix” the existing collection of this Edwardian edifice. The latter is the most rewarding as it leads the visitor through a maze of regularly ignored works with the promise of a cheap Banksy thrill in almost every room.

On entering the museum proper you are faced with the largest of the exhibits, one of  Banksy’s typical dystopian scenes featuring a life-size burnt out ice-cream van ditched on an astro-turf green with a riot policeman astride a moving child’s coin-operated ride.
Banksy’s art at its best, holds up a mirror to society (particularly British society) in a way that is almost celebratory in the impartiality of its delivery and the corners of this main atrium are flanked by some of the most successfully realised works of this exhibit. In this instance we get four beautiful plinthed pure white Renaissance casts – Michelangelo’s “David” adorned with kerchief mask and ammo belt of a suicide bomber, the teenage “chav”-ess complete with lager can and cigarette, Venus as a baseball-capped homeless amputee and the self-obsessed designer shopping bag laden WAG. The depiction of ugliness by the deployment of beauty is a familiar dichotomy but one that is portrayed here in an inimitable fashion. This exhibit also becomes evidence of the fact that, to many, this event is one long conveyor belt photo opportunity, an all too familiar aspect of so many life experiences in the early 21st century.

The first of the dedicated gallery rooms is crammed with the type of works that will be familiar to all but the cave dweller – the trademark stencils and large canvases that are Banksy’s bread and butter. Many of these satires are characterised by a subtle and sophisticated humour whilst others deal with world poverty and injustice on an explicit level. The prevailing reaction to all the works on display is wild mirth which is perfectly understandable as most of them are bloody funny. I can only hope that the underlying content is not lost on the majority of visitors. There is also evidence that Banksy’s work is taking on a more self-reverential approach that against odds, remains successful.
The second room is an animatronic zoo full of caged or glass-cased exhibits and is the other beautifully realised success of this exhibition. The subdued lighting and sound effects contribute to the uneasy experience of being dropped into some nightmarish laboratory of damaged evolution. Chicken nuggets hatch from eggs and take nourishment from tubs of barbecue sauce, a mother CCTV camera watches over the nest of its CCTV child, the tail of a leopard fur coat twitches as it hangs from a branch, a beauty obsessed white rabbit applies its own make-up and a large turd-like fish-finger hovers in its bowl. Most disturbing of all is the reptile house meat selection where salamis and sausages undulate in a far too realistic manner like extras from a lost David Lynch short.

From here it’s up to you. Works of the “local artist” are blended throughout the existing exhibits and act as a (not-too) elusive reward for exploration of some of the dustier corners of this institution. For me, some of these harbour distant memories from childhood visits like the gypsy caravan, now slapped with a penalty charge and eviction notice. Elsewhere, a blood-spattered Countryside Alliance banner rests next to a dormant fox in the stuffed menagerie.

This is invigorating art displayed in an elaborate and ambitious manner. Its irreverent, playful approach is devoid of the Saatchi sponsored pomposity which characterised the early 90s Brit-art sensation. That’s what makes this an important and decisive chapter in the relationship of the British public with its artists. In fact, another highlight comes in the form of a poke at that establishment-endorsed charlatan Hirst. Amongst the diminutive modern painting collection hangs a work entitled “Improved Spot Painting” featuring a rat grey-rollering one of DH’s mass produced banal masterpieces. It’s a welcome relief to be able to engage and identify with work such as this, especially in light of such crashing un-achievements as Tracey Emin’s “Those who suffer Love” and the Chapmans’ “If Hitler Had Been a Hippy…”.

As well as the international tourist trade this exhibition is cramming locals, particularly children into an environment that perhaps without Banksy they would never experience. This exposure to art and patronage of a sadly-ignored local cultural institution can only be a good thing even if it is largely through some deluded sense of regional pride.

Banksy has more than his fair share of deriders but on the strength of what is on display here it’s easy to see that his work has a connection that stretches far beyond its inexplicable middle-class appeal. And that is why it works so well in this environment. This exhibition is an unqualified success and deserves to be experienced. So if you’re in Britain (or nearby), I urge you to take some time out to visit the mild, mild West and take advantage of this fine opportunity, it won’t even cost you a penny to get in.