Do you remember Ritchiemania? There was a time, nearly 20 years ago (seriously!) that the Guy Ritchie brand of cheeky Cockney crime caper successfully rejuvenated the British gangster genre and had the world spellbound – and for good reason.
Hackney’s Finest is clearly in awe of that cinematic moment. But while Lock, Stock and Snatch were a ‘Cool Britannia’ riff on Tarantino’s alternate dimension America, director Chris Bouchard’s first full length feature trades in on the infamous reputation of a real London borough, right down to a cringey namecheck in the final line. In part it’s an exaggerated reflection of writer Thorin Seex’s own observations of Hackney’s grittier side, but shot through with an endearingly silly vibe.
Things kick off promisingly enough; local smack dealer and all round reckless geezer Sirus (Nathanael Wiseman) has got himself a nice gig working in a cabbie’s office and dealing on the side (note: Hackney’s Finest gleefully treats drug abuse with all the gravity of having a Mars bar).
But things go pear-shaped when vengeful copper Priestley (played with snarling relish by Arin Alldridge) hatches a plot to stitch up our dozey hero. Holed up in a deserted warehouse in Tilbury Docks with two Welsh-Jamaican arms dealers (Enoch Frost and Marlon G. Day grappling with some truly ridiculous patois), an Afghan smackhead and his moody/deadly sister, Sirus and co. find themselves under siege from the bent feds and their private army of druggedup Russian gangsters with a fondness for European techno. Needless to say, a night of mayhem swiftly unfolds, all delivered with a knowing nod and wink.
For a low budget indie movie, Hackney’s Finest is a hell of a looker. Bouchard worked with Soho’s Framestore, the digital studio that put the fairy dust into Alfonso Cuaron’s Oscar gobbling Gravity, and the results are frequently stunning. There’s a slick, crisp look to the whole affair that belies its homegrown roots, backed up by some nice moments of cinematography and punchy editing.
Sadly though, all the polishing in the world can’t rescue what, at heart, is a paint-by-numbers gangster knockabout that starts to drag far too early. On one level, Hackney’s Finest’s cast of 2D stereotypes is something of a love letter to multicultural London, but the substituting of real characters for bombastic accents soon starts to grate. It’s all a bit Borat, without the intelligence.
Then again, there’s really no point in getting po-faced about a film like this; it knows exactly what it is, and has no delusions otherwise. Bear this in mind and there’s a fair bit of fun to be had, from the gorgeous visuals to gunfights galore and a smattering of humorous dialogue. Just don’t be expecting Lock, Stock for a new generation.
Is our obsession with image hurting art on its home turf? It may seem like a contradictory notion, but for Shoreditch’s galleries it’s a very real concern.
A short journey through EC2’s tangled streets offers no shortage of artistic expression. Whether it’s street art, exhibitions or installations, the area has long flown the flag for alternative and recognised channels of creativity alike. First Thursdays, the monthly happening that sees Shoreditch’s galleries throw open their doors to the public after hours, remains a staple for art lovers, even if interest has waned in recent years. While many have declared it a fossilised scene, it remains a stomping ground for some of the UK’s most successful artists.
But, as the conversation so often goes, things ain’t what they used to be. There’s no denying the Shoreditch we have now is a more manicured and exclusive animal. Chock-a-block with big brands, glossy retail spaces and aspirational new developments, there’s a strong sense it’s cleaned up and sold out. For some, the art scene is following suit.
Chemical reaction
Graham MacCallum is clearly a man who loves what he does. As we wander through Kemistry Gallery’s latest exhibition – a selection by children’s toy luminary Fredun Shapur – he takes the time to point out his favourite pieces and the stories behind them, a passionate curator in his element.
Upstairs, we sit down to talk about the future of Kemistry. Earlier this year, the gallery – which works alongside Kemistry design and branding agency upstairs – was bluntly informed its rent was about to triple with the arrival of a new landlord. To keep the gallery at its current location in Charlotte Road, Kemistry would be looking at £80,000 to £100,000 rent per year. The price, MacCallum explains, was simply too high.
“Kemistry Gallery has very much become part of the Shoreditch scene; we’d love to stay in the area, frankly,” he reflects.
“The fact that we’re going is very much a measure of how it’s changing. When we came to this building there certainly wasn’t a Subway on the corner. Things have changed so much since we’ve been here, compared to the ten years previous to that. It was fairly desolate when we first arrived, full of squats.”
As he points out, Tramshed, the restaurant on Rivington Street, used to actually be a deserted tramshed; now one of Damien Hirst’s pickled cows watches the diners serenely.
Kemistry gallery
Phase two
The loss of their space on Charlotte Road is far from the end for Kemistry. In fact, it’s the beginning of a whole new era for the gallery.
“We had so many people saying ‘don’t go!’, that we thought maybe it’s the kick up the pants we needed to do something bigger and better,” says MacCallum.
For the last decade, Kemistry has celebrated graphic design with a respect usually reserved for more traditional artforms – the only gallery to do so in the UK. The long-term goal is now to reinvent Kemistry as a non-profit space and education centre that continues to acknowledge contemporary and classic graphic creations.
To do this, a milestone pop-up exhibition is planned for February 2015, to showcase the best graphic art the gallery has exhibited over its first decade. They’ve already received a £15,000 blessing from Arts Council England for a feasibility study into the next phase, while a Kickstarter campaign for the pop-up had just nosed its £15,000 target at the time of writing.
Adapting to survive
Kemistry’s rescue plan is representative of the way galleries in East London are thinking on their feet to cope with mounting commercial pressures.
Jealous, a screen print studio, recently opened its second site in Shoreditch, a stone’s throw from Kemistry. While a working studio first and gallery second, its flexible business model gives a good indication of how the East End’s art scene is diversifying to survive.
“Galleries are clearly under more pressure now,” affirms Dario Illari, owner and director of Jealous. “Having a gallery here, I have to be open to having pop-ups and events. It’s not ideally what we’d like, but it’s a compromise that lets us do the stuff we want to.”
Indeed, Jealous’ flexibility – and the current appetite for screen printed art – places it in something of a sweet spot. Via printing jobs and publishing artists’ work, it can get involved in more diverse, non-profit projects, such as its annual shows exhibiting the best in the latest wave of art graduates.
Statement
As Shoreditch and other parts of East London become more moneyed and aspirational, so the market for statement art has bloomed. As a long-term art collector himself, Illari has witnessed the shift first-hand.
“More than ever there is art as product,” he says. “What art does now is to give people social eloquence. Sophistication. To many, art has become a brand. People recognise a Banksy or a Tracey Emin, and will pay for an edition.
“It’s not wrong or right, but there are many galleries now selling to that market.”
The rise of the art fairs has played a key role in this trend, he argues. For many, these are the out-of-town supermarkets to the galleries’ local corner shops, dragging away the attention and cash of consumers in an on-trend feeding frenzy.
Eastern promise
As MacCallum points out, it’s the same as it ever was. If the art characterising the East End is becoming more predictably commercial, it’s only a matter of time before the scene rejuvenates itself.
And while Shoreditch will soon be saying goodbye to Kemistry, the iconoclastic tradition of the area’s art scene remains. “Two roads over from here, they discovered the original Shakespeare’s theatre on Curtain Road,” he says. “It was the first theatre in England.
“Shoreditch was outside the city wall, so this was where all the revelry went on. In a funny way it’s kept that spirit today; bang up against the city but full of strip clubs, nightclubs, theatres and galleries.
“You can trace a continuous line, all the way back.”
Stripping up the rulebook: The East London Strippers Collective. Photograph: Vera Rodriguez
As arenas where titillation and commerce converge, strip clubs have long occupied a curious position between the battlelines of the personal and the political.
In recent years the spectrum of views on stripping has become even more polarised. On the one hand, national mores about sex continue to loosen. The flipside, however, is the concerted efforts of fourth wave feminist proponents to challenge what they argue are patriarchal relics woven into the heart of British culture, as spearheaded by the likes of The Everyday Sexism Project and the campaign against The Sun’s Page 3.
Caught right in no-man’s land (appropriately), we find the women who make a living by getting their kit off: the strippers themselves.
War on a G-string
“There’s currently a moral agenda against stripping,” argues Stacey Clare, founder of the East London Strippers Collective.
“The legal decisions that have been made on strippers’ behalves do not reflect their points of view as the people working in the industry. We’re looking to challenge that status quo.”
Stacey set up the ELSC this year. The group promotes the self-organisation of strippers in London and the UK, seeking to challenge prevailing attitudes about strip club activity and improve working conditions at an industry level.
In practice, the collective meets regularly to discuss the latest developments affecting dancers, acting as a network of information and solidarity for members. By hosting events such as talks, pop-up strip clubs and life drawing classes it raises awareness and creates a vibrant fusion of community and activism.
“There’s no doubt the Olympics and the regeneration of the East End has a lot to do with the restigmatisation of stripping,” Stacey expands. “Hackney Council, for example, has taken an active stance against the industry.”
She’s referring to the council’s decision to embrace a ‘nil policy’ for strip clubs, which outright refuses the opening of any new venues in the borough. As enshrined in 2009’s Police and Crime Act, a nil policy cannot be appealed.
To its critics, the legal shift in 2009 sounded the death knell of the ‘Golden Age’ of striptease. By classifying lapdance clubs as ‘sexual entertainment venues’ and dramatically reducing the ease with which licences could be obtained, the industry has been forced onto shrinking ground.
Edie Lamort, a veteran performer, was active in London during the Golden Age, which coincided with a more relaxed view of stripping in the early 2000s. She believes that the demise of the traditional, independent strip pub – once a mainstay of the East End – has led to a general disempowerment of dancers.
“There’s been a sea change in the strip industry and the popular view of it, which I first saw emerging around 2006,” she says. “A backlash against it was emerging.
“The groups and politicians that pushed through the current legislation claim they don’t want to ban anything, but how is a nil policy not a ban? It’s completely disingenuous – the actual aim is to ban anything to do with the erotic industry.
“They’re pushing it as far underground as they can.”
The exploitation equation
Current legislation – and the way it limits and defines dancers – is a flagship concern for the ELSC.
“With the nil policy, there’s essentially no competition any more,” explains Lamort. “Existing venues aren’t forced to improve, as there’s no incentive. It reduces our power in the labour market, putting us in a much tougher position.”
According to Clare, the legislation is based on “fallible” evidence.
“Many reports and statistics have been given out of context to support a moral, pre-existing stance that denies the idea of strippers as empowered and portrays them as doing something wrong.
“The licensing laws have the potential to do a massive disservice to what should be a legitimate career.”
The rhetoric that paints stripping as negative is barely disguised by the politicians themselves. In January 2014 Labour MP Diana Johnson brought the Sex Establishments (Regulation) Bill to parliament, aiming to further tighten Sexual Entertainment Venue licensing.
“I am not seeking to impose some draconian new ban from Whitehall,” she claimed. “I merely want local people and councillors to have more power to resist the spread of sleaze in their neighbourhoods.”
For Clare, the real focus of reform should be on how dancers are exploited in clubs. A stripper for nearly ten years herself, she drew on her own experiences to shape the goals of the ELSC.
“From day one of my dancing career I saw how girls were being exploited,” she explains. “I sat there and watched clubs taking the piss, taking fistfuls of money out of our pockets. “In my opinion there’s only one club in London which is run adequately and has a culture of respect for the girls that work in it.
“I started imagining how clubs should be run, how dancers could get a better deal.”
Naked ambition
One element of the ELSC’s vision is to open Europe’s first ever co-operative strip club in London – an achievement that would represent a watershed moment for the British strip club industry.
“It’ll be owned and managed by the dancers who work there, and will be based on an egalitarian business model,” Clare explains. “Profits would be shared and a progressive culture that supports and respects workers and patrons would be fostered.”
While the aims of the ELSC are laid out singularly in its manifesto, the collective is a broad church, and home to a mosaic of mentalities. As much is evident when the prickly issue of where stripping fits in the modern feminist landscape is raised.
“It may seem contradictory to consider ourselves feminists and still strip, but we all basically want the same result; respect for women,” Clare argues.
“For me feminism is about supporting women’s choices, not about telling them what they should and shouldn’t do.”
But isn’t stripping fundamentally demeaning to women? “My answer to that is: bollocks. In my experience stripping only becomes demeaning when the environment it’s done in is exploitative, so let’s change the conditions of the industry so it supports and sustains its workers.
“Of course gender inequality is a problem,” she concedes. “But we want to challenge the patriarchal paradigm that currently exists, and the idea that all strippers are downtrodden or have Stockholm Syndrome.
“As we say in the manifesto, we invite the prospect of male and transgender dancers and mixed audiences. We recently had a male drag stripper join – to me that’s very exciting.” For Lamort, the issue is squarely about personal choice.
“Modern feminism is often victim feminism; it’s too concerned with trivial things and playing the victim,” she argues.
“I look at my stripping friends and I see strong, intelligent, risk-taking, educated, property-owning, witty women.
