Film-maker Oliver Beer and capturing the power of emotion

Jun 15 2010 By Lorne Jackson

Truth matters to artist Oliver Beer, no matter how uncomfortable the subject, writes Lorne Jackson.

So this is what it’s like to be caught lurking in the back row of a pornographic cinema.

That was my second thought. My first was: For this kind of work I really should have worn a dirty mac. (The problem was I didn’t have a dirty mac. Plenty of dirty jackets, shirts and trousers at home. Just no Harry Palmer overcoats.)

I squirmed in my seat and tried my best to fade into the shadows and focus on the screen. But the film continued to make me feel uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. I was disturbed.

Though it wasn’t pornography I was watching. Visually it was tamer than any dirty flick. Yet when it came to content, it was far more terrible. Heart rending, too.

On the screen, a group of young men and women sat in a room. Biting lips, twitching eyes, scratching noses, scribbling on pads, gazing awkwardly into the middle-distance. . . And listening to an audio speaker which was booming out a telephone conversation between a man and young woman. It was the conversation which made me squirm in the darkened room.

The young woman was admitting to the man that she had been abused as a child.

The abuser wasn’t a relative, although being a friend of the family she had called him ‘Uncle’.

Now the girl was saying she was afraid this man was abusing other youngsters. Over the course of the conversation – which seemed to go on for ever, though it was only about ten minutes – the man on the phone asked short, incisive questions, devoid of emotion, though not lacking in concern.

The girl answered, becoming increasing distressed in the process. Meanwhile, the listeners in the room continued to bite lips, twitch, stare, scribble.

And I lurked in the darkness, feeling as though I had no right to be invading the damaged woman’s privacy.

I felt even worse when a group of teenage girls joined me to watch the film. I was wearing ear-phones, so at first they couldn’t hear what I heard. Then they also put on ear-phones, listened for a couple of minutes, then left – bustling back into daylight and innocence.

I squirmed some more.

‘Training’ was the short film I was watching. It’s a video of a group of young adults learning to be volunteers for a telephone counselling service.

The film was made by the artist Oliver Beer, and it’s being screened in the Ikon Gallery’s Tower Room until July 11. It’s too early to tell whether a distinguished career lies ahead of Beer, who only recently graduated from art school.

But I’ll say this for the one piece of work of his that I’ve experienced. It’s uncomfortable, unforgettable and never unbelievable. After I’d wriggled through the ten minutes of trauma and tension, I met the creator of the work downstairs in the Ikon’s sun-soaked cafe.

A very different place from the one I’d just endured – a journey from darkness into light. The cafe was filled with gleaming tables, bright conversation, dazzling smiles. Oliver Beer, himself, seems to be a sunny individual. Trendy haircut, fashionable clothes, handsome and smooth features – he exudes boy-band bonhomie.

He was actually once a member of a pop band who were briefly signed by Sony, though his true calling guided him to more challenging work, eventually leading to The Ruskin School Of Drawing And Fine Art in Oxford.