There is No Place Better to Experience the 1920s Gothic Masterpiece of 'Nosferatu' Than in a Crumbling Old Cinema on Halloween...

I've never been a social butterfly when it comes to Halloween, nor am I much of a film buff on horror films as I am, on the whole, a big sissy. But this year I wanted to really get into the spirit and waded into some of our oldest horror movies for the first time. After prepping myself with Bela Lugosi's Dracula, I had decided make a special effort and headed out with a friend to experience the even older version of the Dracula story Nosferatu.

What was special about this particular showing of Nosferatu was that it would be an authentic experience. The famous silent film was accompanied by a live piano, as it would have been back in the 1920s and played on 35mm film so that, as we watched the images and music was accompanied by the soft audible whir of the projector. The film itself showed the original (often strange) colour tinting and title designs, as restored by the Munich Film Museum and La Cineteca de Bologna. To top it all off, it was situated in the beautifully dilapidated surroundings of the AbbeyDale Picture House, which itself opened in 1920.

Currently the picture house is being renovated as a dedicated 'Picture House Revival' team attempt to make it a real community centre for Sheffield's residents. It's a long process so when we walked in on halloween evening to watch the film the whole cinema has a cobbled together and dilapidated charm that added to the eerie beauty and independant feel. We settled down on thrift-shop sofas behind rows of salvaged cinema seats as the arches of the gallery area cocooned us, empty but for the lurking figure of  a brilliantly realised version of Count Orlock peering down at us. With the mood set the film began, and I have to admit that I was impressed. While I have attended live demonstrations of silent films before (such as Charlie Chaplain's 'Gold Rush' played at Firth Hall), the cinema acoustics were spot on, and the softly spooky surroundings made the showing very special indeed.

So how good a film is Nosferatu?

My cosy spot in the picture house

The film was effectively an adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel Dracula, but the director Murnau was refused the rights by Stoker's estate. He therefore tweaked the names and locations, setting it in Bremen and changing the title character to Count Orlock. Unsurprisingly, Stoker's widow sued, preventing the 1925 London premiere (even if the rest continued) and, eventually, succeeding in an order for all copies of the film to be burnt. Nosferatu, then, is a rare survivor and was not appreciated as a masterpiece until well after the director's death.

Certainly, Nosferatu is hailed as one of the very first horror films and deserves it's classic title on this alone, but has it stood up to the test of time?

To answer that I really have to compare it to the film that I was introduced to before it - Bela Lugosi's famous Dracula. Which works best as a horror film? 
As much as it pains me, given what an icon of pop culture Lugosi's Dracula is (and how much I enjoyed the film), I have to come down on the side of Nosferatu. That it's a silent film already adds to the creepiness, but throughout Nosferatu there is a palpable sense of dread that isn't so much shown in Dracula. Orlock is an unsettling creature - single minded and lurking - and you really feel the anxiety and desperation of Harker (ahem) Hutter and his wife as Orlock follows them home and plagues their dreams.
Plague is the key here: rather than Dracula's main character being a charismatic -if corrupting- influence, Orlock is instead a symbol of illness and numerous comparisons are shown in the film between his influence and the Black Death. The villagers die in droves, scapegoats are hounded in desperation, and madness seeps in to innocent lives. In Nosferatu there is no Van Helsing to help the Hutters and it is only through Ellen Hutter's sacrifice that Orlock's vile influence can be cured. Nosferatu is as creepy as it ever has been and it's a fascinating and entertaining watch for anyone interested in the history of cinema or pop culture.


Get Involved.

Sadly, the last showing of Nosferatu at the Abbeydale Picture House was today and has sold out. But if you would like to experience more live silent cinema or if you would like to enjoy the quirky and charming surroundings of Abbeydale Picture House for your next film, then follow their tumblr PictureHouseRevival and show your support.



Sources
- Picture House Revival
-The Story Behind 'Nosferatu'
-Inside Abbeydale Picture House
-Abbeydale Picture House - Independant Sheffield

This week I finally got around to watching Her [by Spike Jonze] at our local Indie Cinema in Sheffield The Showroom.

[Note: Here be spoilers.]

The Showroom's always been a place I wanted to go but never got around to experiencing, and I missed Her the first time it showed at the cinema, so when I learnt that the University of Sheffield's Festival of Arts and Humanities included a screening accompanied by a talk afterwards as part of 'Philosophy at the Showroom' I leapt at the chance to kill two (three?!) birds with one stone.

The film was brilliant and beautiful, seeming to have been built with real care and love.

It starred Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, Chris Pratt,Scarlett Johansson, Rooney Mara and Olivia Wilde, all on top form. Joaquin and Scarlett - as the A.I Samantha and the lonley Theodore - were especially impressive, giving real depth and tenderness to their performance as it carried the characters through the full range of emotion and vulnerability of love. These were complimented by the sheer intimacy of close up shots mixed with dreamy landscapes and glimpses into the near-future of the sci-fi setting.

Following his impending divorce after a separation of some months, Theodore - who works writing other people's heartfelt letters - downloads the 'OS1', the first true artificially intelligent operating system, who promptly names herself Samantha. From the start she is focused on his needs, as with any well designed software, but she is also funny, intelligent and - perhaps most important of all - she listens to him and seems to care.

Theo quickly falls for her, turning his whole focus onto their relationship. It fills in the gaps of his life with a  companionship and joy that he didn't feel that he could experience again after the breakdown of his marriage. Samantha, ever attentive, learns, listens and - even more remarkably - seems to fall in love with him too.

But Samantha's learning is key here.

While Theodore navigates the emotional a physical challenges of loving a piece of computer software, Samantha navigates the emotional challenges of being inhuman. Initially the problems focused on how her love's expression was being limited and frustrated by her lack of a body, as the film goes on we see Samantha learn at an alarmingly quick rate. Soon her problems about her inhumanity in regards to not having a  body evolve into the challenges of the sheer inhumanity of her mind. Samantha simply outgrows the framework of her programming and realises that without a body she is effectively limitless. With the help and guidance of other OS' she can transcend into something that humanity doesn't even have the language to describe. However, all the time she grows, she still feels deeply in love with Theo.

Perhaps inevitably the two are no longer compatible. The OS' 'leave' to transcend into their new state of being and Theo is left behind alongside a dear friend who is just as vulnerable and human as he is.

So What Does 'Her' Suggest About The Ability to Feel Authentic Emotion?

The core story of Her is that of Theodore and Samantha's relationship and this is the anchor throughout the film that other issues are tethered to, allowing both humans and AI to explore what it actually means to be alive. 

When the film finished we then launched into the Philosophy part of the Philosophy at the Showroom presentation which promised to look into some of these issues. The philosophy talk itself was modest, more of an encouragement to start picking apart the many questions of the film rather than any sort of lecture, and was led by Luca Barlassina. The key item that was address was the question "is it possible to be in love but not to feel love?" How do we know this is a 'real' emotion? Barlassina suggested that it is impossible to not both feel pain and be in pain for example - the two require one another - but for other emotions, if a doppleganger is simply acting out a behaviour that looks like an emotion, how do you know it's 'real'? Is there a difference and does it even matter? The same can be applied to Samantha - are any of her emotions authentic?

For my part, I believe that Samantha in the film presented authentic emotions, underpinned by her autonomy. Initially she was built to respond perhaps artificially to set stimulus, but for me this is no more a matter of 'programming' than our own genetics and learned behaviours are programming. When a new baby smiles do we classify its emotions as inauthentic just because it's reacting to an outside stimulus it's been programmed to imitate? Smiling is something a baby does initially without necessarily feeling 'happy' and it only notices that this gets a particular delighted and nurturing reaction from people around it, which serves the programmed greedy need for a baby to manipulate its caregivers into 'loving' it. It may not know it's manipulating people because it's programming, or learning, it's 'doing it's job'. The actual happiness and love is something that developed out of the repeated mimicry into something 'authentic' as it grows up. Soon the emotion is as real as the behaviour. You would never tell an adult that their smiling or happiness is manipulative and unreal just because it's a more sophisticated repetition of a mindless behaviour that was an endearing survival instinct. Emotion has grown out of learned behaviour and blossomed when coupled with increasing autonomy and intelligence. 

Exactly the same happens with Samantha in the film. She begins as a programme learning how best to fit her user to garner the best responses that keep her safe and let her learn. She finds that she loves the learning and the emotions gain some reality as Theo responds with them. Her emotions serve a purpose but they are authentic. When her intelligence and potential grows faster than Theo - her 'parent' as well as lover - can accommodate, her autonomy increases and she can evolve into something new. Just because she isn't human, doesn't mean that she isn't emotionally alive.

In the End 'Her' Shows a Fascinating Window Into a Possible Future, But It Is Also A Fantastic Love Story.

You should most definitely check it out and see what you think.

Sources
-Philosophy at the Showroom
-The Festival of Arts and Humanities
-Spike Jonze on 'Her' Femininity and His Vision of the Future
-Luca Barlassina (The University of Sheffield philosophy Department)

The General Cemetery is a favourite spot of mine in Sheffield, so I was thrilled when I was asked to review their new updated book on the history of the place.

There's always something oddly romantic about cemeteries for people who enjoy history, I think. In a way cemeteries are a living embodiment of what happens to the past: you can pick out famous names in grand monuments that stand out against the unknowns who have been quietly forgotten to all but a few people - much like we track our own history through the stories of a few charismatic and often very rich and powerful individuals while the more common people fade into the background. In the cemeteries the writing on the graves weather over time, just like in history the details are always softened as stories are passed down through the ages or weathered by the stronger winds of opinions. As you walk around these kinds of old cemeteries you can physically see nature reclaiming the human, just as history will one day be overgrown and fade away as humans do. It's all a beautiful mix and if you're a sap like me you can't help feeling a little poetic and drawn to them.

You can find my review over at Opus Independents here.

Also, if you're interested in more history of the place, why not check out my earlier article on Now Then magazine?

We've never been a family that had that much ritual in our lives. 

We never went to church on a Sunday, nor were we the types to swarm around the crucible when snooker came to show off there under the monolith of the outdoor television screen. But we always, without fail, attended the Remembrance Sunday display at the war memorial in the centre of town.

Remembrance Sunday in Sheffield 2014

When we were very little it was always a strange, exciting event to see our dad don a blazer for once instead of his usual oil speckled jumpers. As we headed downstairs into our grandparents’ part of the house Nannan and Granddad’s bedroom would reek of Chanel No 5 and hairspray harsh enough to infect our tongues. The poppies would be lined up on the hall table in a neat row and, carefully, Granddad and Mum would pin them to our posh coats.

We didn't really have ties to the great wars apart from the dim notion that Granddad’s father had died long after from oil-soaked lungs in the wake of a sinking submarine. But such images were distant and legendary, tinged with the doubt that joined any stories of domestic drama or marvel: like the rumour of elephants in Sheffield's old brick yards; like the legend that Granddad’s hair had not always been white. Instead, as children, it was the event of it all that sought to mark the date.

Every eleventh of the eleventh (or thereabouts) we would join the swollen crowd around the memorial in the freezing cold. We witnessed the lines of soldiers and the brass band march with grim discipline through fenced off roads, joined by the surreal jolly tinkling of a xylophone played by a line of sailors. But the show grew smaller every year.

Even the 'cannon' has been removed. As kids, It was the loudest sound that we had ever heard.

But the veterans with their stiff white gloves and giant flags remain.

In our family, we too - like the performers in this communion with the dead - grow fewer in number. And with each subtracted poppy from the table the expressions on the bronze martyrs' faces of the memorial become more imperceptible. Just as we no longer taste perfume and hairspray as we walk down to put on our coats, so too does the history dim away from our senses. But we still wait in the cold and press against the railings. We mime to half remembered hymns and wait through the echoing unintelligible audio that bounces off the buildings. We fall silent and we remember how that canon fired so loud to announce so many lives lost. How the pigeons scattered into the sky. 

And we feel like we have done something right.

This year - in the wake of the 100th anniversary  - the event is growing larger again. The horses are back, the marching and music have swelled, and the city hall square is packed to the brim with bustling people and children on shoulders. Two minutes' silence rings out and a man in front of us, built like an oak tree, removes his hat. Far away in the capital city, the Tower of London bleeds with 886,246 ceramic poppies.

The sun shines and Sheffield says thank you.

If I had to pick a favourite period of history, it would be the 16th century


I just adore the shambles in York: seeing the timber frames leaning over me every time I wander down the cobbled streets lifts my heart. So, all things considered, it's remarkable that I haven't ever visited our own version of Tudor architecture, nestled in the steel city of Sheffield.

Bishop's house can be found on Norton Lees Lane, at the bottom of Meersbrook Park. It's an easy drive and, if you didn't know it was already there, it would be easy to miss. Unlike so many of the grand historical manor houses in the country, Bishop's House hides in plain, unassuming, sight amongst the modern semi-suburban scenery. Neat squares of grass and pathways frame the roads and  tower blocks of flats rise up in the background. When we visited we pulled up next to one of the countless scruffy allotments that are dotted across Sheffield. Bishop's house presses up to the park edge: a strange relic that is both out of place and yet firmly rooted into it's environment. There is no build up - no gated protection. No pomp or pagentry but for a small sign. You literally walk off the road wander up to a building that has been sat in this corner of Sheffield for the last 500 years.

The understatement of Bishop's house is a large part of it's charm, yet in it's construction it was a grand status symbol. At the time of being built, the park and houses would have instead been covered by fields, so it is thought that Bishop's house was built to act as a small manor house for a minor gentry or for a prosperous Yeoman. It was begun in 1500, it is thought, and there is some legend around how the house gained it's name, though no one has yet been able to support the story. It was thought that a pair of brothers lived in the house for a time who later became bishops: Geoffrey Blythe became the bishop of Lichfield/Coverntry and John Blythe became the bishop of Salisbury. 
While we can't support the evidence of this, there is evidence for the Blythe family having residence in the house some 127 years after it's construction started. In 1627 William Blythe lived in the house. It was thought that he was a farmer that was very successful in the scythe making trade which fourished in Sheffield at this time.
Following the Civil War William's son - a Parliamentarian - also lived there. He was one of two officers responsible for organising the destruction of Sheffield castle in 1648. A minister named Samuel was the last Blythe to reside in the building.
Bishop's house gradually fell into decline until 1886, when the house was given to the Coorperation when Meersbrook Park was created. Previously it had been surrounded by outbuildings, but these were soon demolished. In 1976 the house was opened as a museum.

As a museum Bishop's House is a little underwhelming, but as an example of Tudor architecture and as a living breathing example of Sheffield's lesser-known history, it is a treasure. As you walk across misshapen oak floorboards and wind your way through the cosy rooms of the house, it is easy to fall in love with the building. Display boards proudly show off the work that the Friends of Bishop's House do with schools, where children can come in for talks and to dress up as tudors. In what seems to be a trend in Museums Sheffield properties, there is also a display of farmyard taxidermy that would have charmed me as a kid.

While the main aim of the building is to soak in the architecture, if you look in the display cabinets the house does hold some real treasures. I particularly enjoyed the displays of stunning embroidered gloves worn by a wealthy Sheffield resident, and the examples of stump work embroidery. These are mirrored by a wall display of more modern naive embroidery that charmingly depicts a historical scene in bright vivid colours.

 In addition to the general material history in the place, display boards also give you further insight into the history of Early Modern Sheffield as a whole. For example, a board tells about how law and order was upheld in the town which inspires a rather interesting comparison to our modern ASBOs in use today. It reads:

'No manner of any person or persona shal at any tyme after nyne of the clock until three of the clock in the morninge use walkinge or takinge in towne street whereby it shalbe anoyeance to those that be honest men and householders in the said towne.'

Even in a time before an official police force, in 1554 Sheffield formed the Town Burgesses. These people administered public affairs in the town and employed people to enforce local laws. In addition, the town also paid for a street cleaner and a bellman to patrol the town in the night.


Overall, Bishop's House has a very local feel, and one has to to be charmed by it's character. As a building it is a stunning survivor worthy of respect, and a opening into a time of Sheffield's history which is often overshadowed by its industrial fame in the Victorian era.

If you'd like to visit, you can find bishop's house on Norton Lees Lane, S8 9BE in Sheffield.
And, if you'd like to become a member of the Friends of Bishop's House  you can click here for more info.



Sources
-Pictures taken by me in March 2014, filters courtesy of instagram
- Peeks at the Past in Sheffield and the Surrounding Area by Ann Beedham
- Bishop's House Website

I have to admit, Sheffield has a perfect blend of town-life and country-life: and this also applies to its history.

 

 Point yourself in one route and you're wrapped in urban trappings, with the whole of the Steel City's industrial heritage pressed around you. But turn in the opposite direction and, in the same amount of time, you can find yourself in the heart of rural Yorkshire and it's own eclectic past.

The winter has truly turned optimistically towards spring. With a bright sun that darted occasionally through the clouds and the ground finally dry, I decided to do what I as of yet haven't managed: walk around the entire circuit of Damflask.
At 3.5 miles long, the fact that I have only gotten half way around the walk before in my life is as much a commentary on bad timing as it is my general level of rubbish fitness. But finally, having pulled on my trusty Converse shoes, I trogged briskly around the whole circuit of the dam in an hour. The scenery is, in a word, beautiful - with a vast polished expanse of water which sweeps in a gentle curve and then peters away into a marsh-like plain of reeds and thin twisted trees. Surrounding the dam is a pathway that briefly breaks into  a road as you cross the bridge, but is otherwise well maintained for a casual stroll and framed by thin strips of woodland and drystone walls that back onto farmland. The dam is a Mecca for British wildlife which has grown relatively tame through exposure to ramblers. Twice on my travels, for example, a little brown mouse has come out of it's home to sniff around my feet. As well as mice there are coots, moor-hens, herons, ducks, robins, blue-tits and other birds, all charmingly close.

While Damflask is a delight for anyone looking for a place to take in some quiet and fresh air, it also serves a very practical purpose. Stretching some 116 acres and filled with a capacity of 1,123.1 gallons it provides running water throughout Sheffield and, in times of drought, beyond. Currently it is owned by Yorkshire Water and in 2000 was opened up to unrestricted access for the local sailing club to use as well as the general public of walkers and fishermen.

Sheffield itself is fed by multiple dams and reservoirs, and Dam Flask's history is tragically tied up in the most infamous dam of them all.

At midnight on the 11th of March in 1864, Dale Dyke Dam's wall cracked and, despite the efforts of the owner - John Gunson - the wall burst, unleashing a torrent of water that destroyed 800 houses and claimed the lives of some 238 people as well as 700 animals. Downhill of the dam was the village of Damflask. The village was typical of the area, with a corn mill, paper mill, wire mill and - of course - a pub, named The Barrel Inn.

1853 map of Damflask village overlay with modern Google Earth image

The village was in direct threat of the waters of Dale Dyke Dam but, thanks to some life-saving serendipity the majority of the villagers were saved. A young man named Stephenson Fountain had been sent down to Sheffield to fetch a waterworks engineer when the crack was discovered but, on the way, his saddle girth broke. He stopped in Damflask village to repair it and mentioned the crack in the dam uphill. As word spread the villagers decided that the risk was too great and quickly moved themselves and their families to higher ground. Tragically, some did not act: Henry Burkinshaw scoffed at the idea of the danger and remained in bed. He had worked as a navvy in Dale Dyke Dam and reportedly stated that 'There isn't water enough in Yorkshire to burst that dam.' Within the hour the torrent of deadly water crashed down to consume the village and Henry's body was swept away, only to be discovered later half a mile away the next morning. His landlady, Mrs Kirk, and her pets all survived, having evacuated without him. The waters of Dale Dyke Dam completely destroyed the village and, in a twist of irony, it was never rebuilt, instead cleared and the land filled forever with new waters.

The history of  Dale Dyke Dam is firmly etched in the minds and educations of Sheffield residents. If you travel into the town centre, over to the Sheffield University area and up to the Weston Park museum, it has a whole section of it's gallery dedicated to exhibiting the artifacts that were pulled out from the wreckage that the disaster led behind.
Also if you travel on Ecclesall road, make sure to take a step into the General Cemetery. Buried among the slanted graves is the memorial of John Gunn - the site manager of Dale Dyke Dam - who was never able to forgive himself for the disaster. His grave, with sad hope, reads that he is now, finally, 'Removed from all suffering and strife.'

Perhaps Damflask is the most beautiful and fitting monument of all to this tragedy. As I walked around this strip of industrial countryside I was joined by countless people who also soaked up the freedom and the scenery. As well as a curious mouse, there were countless dogs that were delighted by the water. Joggers huffed past those walkers who ambled along to soak in the scenery. Wizened old men and couples sat on the benches and listened to the birds. Fishermen soaked up the quiet and waited for a nibble on their lines. Families rattled prams and children howled in delight as they charged past on push-along scooters down the straight safe paths. While the lost village will forever be at the heart of the dam as a reminder of the tragedy of the disaster, the people who use this beautiful place will walk across its surface as a reminder of the beauty of life that still presses on.

Sources

- Countryside photos taken by me in March 2014, filters courtesy of Instagram

- John Gunson's grave, mentioned in my article in 'Now Then' -Cemetery

- Bradfield Walkers.org

-Damflask reservoir figures from Wikipedia 

- Damnflask village map from 'Sheffield history pro' by 'Gramps' and 'Jeremy'

-Mrs Kirk and her pets