The Press and Journal (Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire)
Willy’s chocolate experience was wonky but wonderful
New Glasgow artistic event was certainly illuminating, but left a bittersweet taste
J FERGUS LAMONT, ARTS CORRESPONDENT
I was moved to take a rare trip southwards this week to experience Scotland’s most powerful artistic event in years. You will not have heard of it, for it has garnered little or no publicity, but I speak of Willy’s Chocolate Experience shown in Glasgow. It is an immersive installation by the aptly named House of Illuminati – an artistic enfant terrible new to me, but, on this evidence, sure to join the panoply of great west of Scotland cultural icons: Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Bill Forsyth, and Wee Jimmy Krankie.
Like many others, I was initially drawn by the project’s website – full of delightful and whimsical Wonka-esque imagery, which bravely rejected the use of the trademarked Wonka. Instead, it conveyed its meaning with vibrant colour, joyful faces, candy canes, and the exhortation to “dive into the whimsical of Willy’s Chocolate Experience” – the missing noun after “whimsical” here acting as a perfect nub of intrigue, and oh so exquisitely setting up what was to come.
Further promises also stimulated the imagination. Who could resist an exhibition said to contain “cartchy tuns, exarserday lollipops” and “a pasadise of sweet teats”? Simultaneously evoking the style of Roald Dahl and demonstrating his skill by comparison.
Upon arrival at a bleak industrial area of Glasgow, one finds a near-empty warehouse and within – ah, what spartan delights! A small bouncy castle. One plastic bear. Some empty tables. Of the delightful candy-coated marketing images, there was no sign – apart from a solitary poster flapping forlornly on a wall.
Everyone around me seemed, as I was, stunned at the brilliance – a powerful evocation of how childhood dreams and hopes are suddenly crushed by harsh reality. “Wake up, weans,” it seemed to say, “this is real life!”
The powerful dichotomy acted as a brilliant metaphor for the defining experience of our age – the gulf between what is promised to us and what we actually get. The pictures on a McDonald’s menu. Brexit. George Galloway.
According to mutterings from my fellow attendees, the artist behind a lot of what we saw was a mysterious entity known only as “AI”. This publicity-shy heir to Banksy works in the multimedia space, producing images of things which could not exist, and scripts given to actors to perform which should not exist.
“There is a man who lives here. His name is not known, so we call him the unknown,” intoned a young man in a cardboard top hat. “The unknown is an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls.” And, in his panicked eyes, I saw man’s primordial existential terror.
The attendance of further performers known as “the polis” added little, but brought the event to a dramatically satisfying conclusion, when a mysterious figure (could this be “AI” himself?) promised refunds “which could take up to 10 working days”.
This final masterstroke will allow everyone who attended the stunning work a further tantalising week and a bit to enjoy the anticipation of discovery. Will reality match expectation? Given the dedication the artist has shown to his theme so far, it would be astonishing if it did.
One cannot overstate the power of the work. I was sufficiently impressed to give a standing ovation at the end, which was essential, as there weren’t any seats. Many who attended were moved to tears. Children, mainly.
But, like them, I wept.
CAVA KENNY CORDINER, THE FOOTBALL PUNDIT WHO EASILY FULFILLED HIS POTENTIAL
What is going on down at Pittodrie? When Super Dave Cormack appointed the well-travailed Neil Warlock as our in-trim gaffer, we was promised a bit of thud and blunder from the lads. But, rather than putting a rocket up the squad, Warlock’s arrival has been a completely damp squid.
The last few days has seen the Dandies get turned over by former manager Degsy McInnes down at Kilmarnock, and then, in a new low, Avril Lavigne’s St Johnstone gave us a doing at Pittodrie. There’s been no sign of a new manager bounce. No bottle. No fight. No points. No hope. When he got the job, Warlock says, he says: “Let’s have a bit of fun.” I is ready when you is, Neil.
We look like a club what is heading for rock bottom right now, and I am crossing my eyes that we turn a corner soon. Warlock’s appointment has achieved something, though, and it’s something I never thought I’d see: the Red Army is now pining for the calcium days of Barry Robson!
One player that needs as big a miracle as the Dandies is former Man United haircut model Paul Pogba. It looks like he’s going to get banned for four years, after apparently being a bit of a dope and failing his drugs test. You’d think, with all his money, he’d have hired a tutor to help him study for it! Mental.
The Red Army is now pining for the calcium days of Barry Robson!