http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturereviews/3558363/Edinburgh-Festival-2008-Janet-Cardiff-and-George-Bures-Millers-fantastic-show.html 1/3 4/7/2014 Edinburgh Festival 2008: Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller's fantastic show - Telegraph Edinburgh Festival 2008: Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller's fantasticshow 'The artists love to blend things that actually exist with the stories they make up about them' Richard Dorment12:01AM BST 12 Aug 2008 In an otherwise dismal year, this extraordinary exhibition by two Canadian artists is the oneto catch, says Richard Dorment Since their breakthrough exhibition in the Canadian Pavilion at the 2001 Venice Biennale, Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller have established themselves as two of the most original artists of their generation. They create large­scale architectural installations, but are also well-known for making art with film, props, light, music and the human voice. Inspired by film noir, thrillers and tales of old dark houses, they tell stories in which real and imaginary elements are so closely woven together that it is impossible to tell which is which. In less skilful hands, this kind of thing can seem superficial. But Cardiff and Miller are serious artists who explore one of the biggest subjects of all — what art is, what it does, and why we need it so badly. You can see Opera for a Small Room in the selection of their work from 1991 to 2008 being shown at the Fruitmarket Gallery in Edinburgh. Before I describe it, I need to give you one instruction. You must see it from beginning to end, like a concert or a one-act play. It only lasts 20 minutes, but if you arrive in the middle and then catch the start you'll miss half the point. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturereviews/3558363/Edinburgh-Festival-2008-Janet-Cardiff-and-George-Bures-Millers-fantastic-show.html 2/3 4/7/2014 Edinburgh Festival 2008: Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller's fantastic show - Telegraph A wooden shed stands in the middle of the gallery. Looking inside one of its three large windows, we see a makeshift den furnished with a few grubby chairs, a standing lamp, bookshelves, tables and a cheap glass chandelier.But what strikes you more than anything else is the number of turntables (eight), loudspeakers (24) and a collection of 2,000 or so 33rpm vinyl LPs stacked on shelves, piled on the floor and strewn over every flat surface.A glance tells us that the room's inhabitant lives alone, that he is dirt poor, and that he spends what money he has on records. The anomalous chandelier perfectly fits our picture of this romantic misfit, whose name, as we learn from the scrawled inscription on the record jackets, was R Dennehy.That's the set; now for the performance. As the gallery lights dim, we hear the familiar sounds of an audience arriving and the orchestra tuning up.The lamps in the room come on and the robotically controlled turntables start to play scratchy recordingsof arias from Italian operas, beginning with "Una furtiva lagrima" from Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore — our first clue that the unfolding story has to do with lost or unrequited love.Then we hear a man's voice — sad, resigned and infinitely expressive — talking, and sometimes humming along with the aria, as you do when you are all alone.We gather that there was once a woman in his life who is no longer there. Something happened to her that he can't quite bring himself to describe. We learn that she was "walking near the road with her shoes in her hand" (which suggests that she'd walked out after a lover's quarrel) and that someone (the narrator) was driving his car too fast in a race with a train.As opera gives way to country and western music and then to Chopin, the narrator edges closer to the memory he's been trying to avoid. "Music don't change anything," he says, "but it helps in some way. It's an opera after all, everyone dies in the end."Suddenly there is an almighty crack of thunder. The lights sputter and go out. Rain beats down on the roof. A freight train passes so close to the shack that the room shakes and the chandelier sways. The music has now stopped and we hear the soothing voice of a hypnotist telling the listener to "relax, forget everything".But what follows is the opposite of peace, as we hear the moans of a soul in torment. Whereas the music and monologue were "actual" sounds, this new noise is, I think, imaginary — or rather, internal.As it continues, all the turntables spin at once, rising to a cacophony that drowns out memories of feelings too painful to be endured. Then the sounds die down, the audience applauds and cheers, and the house lights come up. For 20 minutes we have been inside the tortured conscience of a man we'll never know. Richard Dorment, "Edinburgh Festival 2008: Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller's Fantastic Show," The Telegraph, August 12, 2008
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