No. 503: The winners
Trevor Grove reports: Competitors were asked to review the work of their dentist, dustman, stockbroker or anyone else whose work is not normally subject to public scrutiny. J. M. Crooks, who set the competition, may not him- self feel bitterly critical about the infamous trio that he suggested for the pillory, but com- petitors almost without exception followed his lead. Up to a point, that is: not a single tiny voice was raised against the third member of his random trinity, though there was no reason why timid investors shouldn't have given him a rave review and thus secured the family for- tune once and for all. There were any number of Doolittle dustmen—an unfair stigmatisation perhaps, but nothing compired to the load of mean and vengeful revilement heaped on the unfortunate dentist. Here, in defence of a use- ful and delicate profession. is a favourable re- view by Edward Samson, who wins five guineas:
Not long since, Molah's performance was no more than stop-gap, hand-to-mouth extem- porising. He attempted to extract too much from his subject too vigorously. His latest work was more conservative, his instrumentation well controlled. Indeed, truly inspired, he mirrored the full potentialities of odontoclasia. With a sure touch be probed his subject, played de- licately around, but never on our nerves, master
• of a finely drilled expertise. Opening on an anaesthetic note, Molah developed an aesthetic theme, which culminated in his crowning achievement: four roots, which in less practised hands might have been devitalised, remained vital, were rendered incisive.
His instrument hummed soothingly, first on low notes then high, teasingly skirted the gqm- margin. We were utterly relaxed, for this was unblemished virtuosity and Molah, now a master of Zahnarzlgeist, provided an experi- ence, if not sensitive, excruciatingly transcen- dental.
J. A. Lindon, a way-out figure on the critical scene, chose to interpret what most of us would regard simply as an isolated and extempore happening as a serious exercise in art ruisseau: Recent performances of that old bin-jerker Les Boueurs, given at Fishbone Garden under the direction of Foreman, leave much to be desired. The upc's production is typically negligent and rarely on time, the choreography of Messing- About might almost be extempore, Taub- macher's scare (a cacophony of penes, grattoirs, heavy bumping percussion and voix rauques) has not been softened in the least by the re- orchestration so widely demanded, design (by one Conseil Urbain) is quite hideous. The abrupt entrance of the male dancers, in cos- tumes that hardly inspire graceful movement, is dramatically unhinging (the new gait cer- tainly comes off), but the ensuing pas de vidage seems never-ending—if they don't know by now which one has to raise his galvanised partner shoulder-high for the enlevement, then it is time they did. We look forward with interest to Sarah Danby's frothily all-feminine
interpretation scheduled for the autumn. Three guineas then to J. A. Lindon and honourable mentions to Amanda Woolley, H. S. Mackintosh, and J. Craig.
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