Wicked Film Review: A Stunning Film Adaptation that Avoids All the Usual Pitfalls of Moving Musicals from the Stage to the Screen

In the new film Wicked, Ariana Grande plays Glinda the Good Witch and Cynthia Erivo is Elphaba. Universal Pictures. Cover by Elli Ioannou for DAM

By Julian Woolford, University of Surrey

The journey from successful stage musical to big-screen adaptation is rarely truly successful. From director Joshua Logan’s use of coloured filters in the 1950s adaptation of South Pacific (which looks as if something is wrong) to Tom Hooper’s recent mega-mess movie of Cats, there are so many pitfalls to avoid.

The suspension of disbelief we willingly embrace in live performance is disrupted by the naturalism of cinema so that the aggressive ballet of the West Side Story gangs looks prissy and tame when filmed on the realistically gritty streets of New York. Similarly, Nathan Lane’s Max Bailystock was hilarious onstage in The Producers, but translates to the film as monstrous over-acting.

Like these musicals, Wicked has proven a remarkable success onstage and is the second highest-grossing musical in the history of New York’s Broadway (after The Lion King). Now it arrives on-screen in two parts; the first released this year and the second in 2025. Eyebrows have been raised at the 2 hour 40 minute running time for a movie that covers act one of the musical, which is 90 minutes onstage.

Inspired by figures like Saddam Hussein, Wicked began life in 1995 as a novel by Gregory Maguire who, drawing on L. Frank Baum’s 1900 novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, wanted to explore how certain figures became demonised in society.

Set in the years before Dorothy crash lands in Oz, the story shows the Wicked Witch to not be evil; she is, in fact, good, becoming radicalised by the broken politics of Oz.

The novel was bought almost immediately by Demi Moore and Universal Studios who struggled to develop a screenplay until composer Stephen Schwartz suggested it became a stage musical.

Working with author Winnie Holzman, they created a female-centric story that jettisoned much of Maguire’s politics to concentrate on the “frenemy” relationship between “pretty in pink” Glinda and the green-skinned outsider, Elphaba.

Director John M Chu’s movie takes Wicked back to its political roots. In a time when populist leaders are on the rise, it arrives as a warning of the dangers of modern fascism.

In particular, it expands the storyline of Oz’s speaking animals who lose their voices. Unlike onstage, these animals are CGI characters in fully animal form and Chu captures how societies are stunned into silence by outrageous political actions. In doing so, he emphasises the unthinking unkindness of the herd mentality. He also makes the film a paean to the power of goodwill.

Set mostly during the Wicked Witch’s schooling years, Shiz University is also more fleshed out. In this section, the movie is in danger of losing its narrative thrust. However, just as we begin to feel trapped in the love child of Mean Girls and Harry Potter, we are whizzed off to the Emerald City.

Here Maguire’s backstory to the Grimmerie, the Ozian book of spells, is now musicalized in a new sequence featuring the original stage stars Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth, and topped by a cameo from Stephen Schwartz. Once in the City, Jeff Goldblum’s Wizard proves a scheming huckster too aware of his own limitations

One of the classic pitfalls of the movie musical is in casting. From Lucille Ball in Mame to Russell Crowe in Les Misérables, missteps here can prove fatal. Thankfully, Wicked is expertly cast.

Ariana Grande captures the over-dramatising spoilt brat Galinda (to become Glinda the Good Witch), with precision vocals. Jonathan Bailey has a ball with the athletic, knowingly objectified heartthrob Fieryo, cementing his place as a leading man. Michelle Yeoh and Jeff Goldblum bring sinister gravitas and reasonable vocals to their respective roles.

However, the casting masterstroke is Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba who brings the quiet dignity to the role that she first revealed onstage in The Color Purple. As a queer black woman, for her, Elphaba’s story is one of pride, this is a woman who refuses to be ashamed of who she is and is determined to fulfil her potential.

She has a distinctive singing voice and the confidence to erase memories of Menzel’s stylings. Film also brings dimensions to Erivo’s talent. The use of close-ups allows an intimacy in her relationships that is impossible in a live setting. She is also able to show her ability to convey the pain she is suffering in a simple glance.

The film is a remarkable feat of 2D and 3D design and there are a dazzling array of quotes to other cinematic renderings of the Oz legends, all of which are delivered with a contemporary sensibility. This is a mechanically driven Oz, full of cogs and wheels, which reference the stage design of Wicked and includes a stylish train.

The costume designs reference both the stage show and the all-black disco musical The Wiz (1978). While the memories of the iconic Judy Garland’s 1939 movie are prompted every few minutes. In one scene, for instance, Elphaba transports a (cowardly) lion cub in a bicycle basket reminiscent of Toto’s dog-napping.

MGM changed Baum’s silver slippers to ruby (and the Wicked Witch’s skin to green) to showcase the newly developed Technicolor process. In this film they remain silver but are first presented in a ruby-encrusted box. There’s also nods to Baum’s original. Notably, the strangeness of the book’s Oz is more accurately captured than in any other cinematic version.

The best musical theatre is like experiencing a series of highwire acts in which the performers must flawlessly execute choreography, act convincingly and hit the highnotes eight times a week. Musical films, which can be re-shot and overdubbed, necessarily lack this sense of danger.

If at times Wicked struggles to capture the sheer energy of the stage, it re-imagines the work in a spectacular, but also thoughtful fashion, deepening serious themes and emotional connection. I will be back to see it and will undoubtedly see the four-plus hours in one sitting once part two is released next autumn. I only wish Judy Garland could see it.

Julian Woolford, Head of Musical Theatre, GSA, University of Surrey

From Cheeky Thrill to Grande Dame: The Moulin Rouge Celebrates 135 Years of Scandal and Success

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, At the Moulin Rouge~The Dance, 1890. Cover picture: Sara Mrad's SS25 Collection in Paris. Photograph by Elli Ioannou

By Will Visconti, University of Sydney 

When the Moulin Rouge first opened on October 6 1889, it drew audiences from across classes and countries.

The Moulin offered an array of fin-de-siècle (end-of-the-century) entertainments to Paris locals and visitors. Located in Montmartre, its name, the “red windmill”, alluded to Montmartre’s history as a rural idyll. The neighbourhood was also associated with artistic bohemia, crime, and revolutionary spirit. This setting added a certain thrill for bourgeois audiences.

From irreverent newcomer to a French institution, the Moulin Rouge has survived scandal, an inferno and found new ways to connect with audiences.

Red and electric

In 1889, the Moulin Rouge was not the only red landmark to open in Paris. The Eiffel Tower, built as part of the Universal Exhibition and originally painted red, had opened earlier that same year. What set them apart, however, was their popularity.

The Moulin Rouge was an instant hit, capitalising on the global popularity of a dance called the cancan. Dancers like Moulin Rouge headliner La Goulue (“The Glutton”, real name Louise Weber) were seen as more appropriate emblems for the city than the Tower, which many considered an eyesore.

In an illustration from Le Courrier Français newspaper, a dancer modelled on a photograph of La Goulue holds her leg aloft, flashing her underwear with the caption “Greetings to the provinces and abroad!”.

Every aspect of the Moulin spoke to the zeitgeist, from its design to the performances, the use of electric lights that adorned its façade, and its advertising.

Its managers, the impresario team of Joseph Oller and Charles Harold Zidler, had a string of successful venues and businesses to their names. They recognised the importance of modern marketing, using print media, publicity photographs, and posters to spark public interest.

Among the most iconic images of the Moulin is Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s 1891 poster. At its centre is La Goulue, kicking her legs amid swirling petticoats.

Henri Toulouse-Lautrec’s 1891 poster. Shutterstock

She certainly can cancan

Found primarily in working-class dance halls from as early as the 1820s, the cancan became a staple of popular entertainment the world over.

Part of the dance’s thrill lay in the dancers’ freedom of movement and titillation of spectators, as well as its anti-establishment energy. Women used the cancan to thumb their nose at authority via steps like the coup de cul (“arse flash”) or coup du chapeau (removing men’s hats with a high kick).

The cancan was not the only attraction at the Moulin. There were themed spaces, sideshows, and variety performances ranging from belly dancers and conjoined twins to Le Pétomane (“The Fartomaniac”) who was a flatulist and the highest-paid performer. People watching was equally popular.

Famous farter, Le Pétomane (Joseph Pujol)

Scandals, riots, and royalty

Over the years, the Moulin has been no stranger to controversy.

In its early years, it cultivated an air of misbehaviour and featured in pleasure guides for visiting sex tourists.

In 1893 it hosted the Bal des Quat’z’Arts (Four-Arts Ball) held by students from local studios. Accusations of public indecency were made against the models and dancers in attendance, and violent protests followed after the women were arrested.

In 1907 the writer Colette appeared onstage at the Moulin in an Egyptian-inspired pantomime with her then-lover, Missy, the Marquise de Belbeuf. When the act culminated in a passionate kiss, a riot broke out.

Historical footage shows the Moulin Rouge as it was.

Kicking on and on

Over time, the Moulin Rouge shows changed their format to keep pace with public taste, though the cancan remained. The venue hosted revues and operettas, and various stars including Edith Piaf, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra and Liza Minnelli.

Famous guests have included British royalty: from Edward VII (while Prince of Wales) to his great-granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth II, and her son, Prince Edward.

Since its opening, the Moulin’s fortunes have waxed and waned.

In 1915 the Moulin Rouge burned down but was rebuilt in 1921. Its famous windmill sails fell off overnight earlier this year but were swiftly repaired.

In the 1930s, it survived the Depression and rise of cinema (also capturing the attention of several filmakers). It also survived the Nazi occupation of Paris in the 1940s.

By the early 1960s, Jacki Clerico was managing the Moulin’s show after his father had revamped the venue as a dinner theatre destination. The younger Clérico oversaw additions like a giant aquarium where dancers swam with snakes, and its now-famous “nude line” – a chorus of topless dancers – in its shows.

In 1963, the Moulin Rouge struck upon a winning formula: revues, all named by Clérico with titles beginning with the letter “F” – from Frou Frou to Fantastique and Formidable. Since 1999, the revue Féerie (“Fairy”, also a French genre of stage extravaganza) has been performed almost without interruption.

The Moulin Rouge or ‘red mill’ today, with its famous windmill. Rafa Barcelos/Shutterstock

Ticket sales were boosted thanks to Baz Luhrmann’s 2001 film Moulin Rouge! and more recently Moulin Rouge! The Musical.

Since COVID, the Moulin Rouge management have diversified. The windmill’s interior has been rented out via AirBnB and the Moulin’s dance troupe has performed on France’s televised New Year’s Eve celebrations. This year, the Moulin Rouge and its dancers were part of the Paris Olympics celebrations, dancing in heavy rain.

Though people have come to appreciate the Eiffel Tower too, the Moulin Rouge can still argue its status as the pinnacle of live entertainment in the French capital: immediately recognisable, internationally visible, and quintessentially Parisian.

Will Visconti, Teacher and researcher, Art History, University of Sydney

Film Review: Gladiator II: A Wavering Thumbs Up For a Rehashed Sequel that Can’t Escape the Ghost of Russell Crowe

Paul Mescal (left) as Lucius and Pedro Pascal as Marcus Acacius in Gladiator II. FlixPix/Alamy

By Daniel O'Brien, University of Essex 

“I will not be your instrument in this life or the next,” utters Paul Mescal’s Lucius halfway through Ridley Scott’s sequel to his 2000 blockbuster, Gladiator. These words are far from an isolated nod to iconic moments in that original film, but one of a litany of rehashed moments which are often done bigger  ~ but not necessarily better.

As expected, there is bloody action from the outset, as well as killer baboons, rhino-riding warriors and even a shark-infested Colosseum. But this comes at a cost, as Gladiator II sacrifices subtlety and plausibility.

It’s hard to escape the feeling this film is just chasing the box office, in the hope of another instalment. Where the original used a progressive incline of believable gladiatorial set pieces that ramp up the danger, the sequel punches through outlandish combat sequences before a finale that, in contrast, seems to fizzle out.

The action makes for a fluid 148-minute runtime, but perhaps plausibility is no longer an important factor of the modern blockbuster. I believe this played an important role in establishing the original Gladiator as an epic classic, so I’m not convinced this sequel will have the same lasting impact.

From an audience perspective, it may be difficult to move past Russell Crowe’s absence from the role he embodied in blood, sweat and fury: he was Gladiator. But Mescal is a wonderful actor, and his subtle brilliance in Aftersun (2022) and All of Us Strangers (2023) assured me that this film would be in good hands.

Similarly, Pedro Pascal’s compelling television work, particularly The Last of Us (2023-2025), The Mandalorian (2019-2023) and Game of Thrones (2011-2019), filled me with confidence. Both actors do a perfectly fine job, but the extent of their acting range feels restricted.

Their craft is perhaps too submerged by the spectacle, and hindered by a respect for Crowe – which means Mescal shies away from “out-Maxing” Maximus, whose presence haunts Gladiator II through gestures, props and costume. Mescal recreates the dialogue, posture and leadership, but doesn’t quite own the role in the way Crowe did.

There are reprisals of roles from Connie Nielson as Lucilla and Derek Jacobi as Gracchus, while Denzel Washington’s Macrinus is something of a distorted echo of Oliver Reed’s Proximo.

Elsewhere, the sadistic sibling emperors Geta and Caracalla, played by Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger (who apparently modelled their look and mannerisms on Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious), jointly replace the complexity of what Joaquin Phoenix achieved single-handed in his portrayal of Commodus. The joint casting, like the action, seemingly relies on “bigger is better” performances, while the original employed a less-is-more approach.

Again, it was Phoenix’s plausibility as a performer, and the more carefully staged dramatic arc within the original film, that allowed viewers to see his transition from pitiful to spiteful, highlighting the actor’s range. This is lost in the sequel, with its forced narrative of sibling rivalry that appears to come out of nowhere in order to hurry the film along.

The third act of the film seems to accelerate into a frantic rush towards a crossroads – at which point a symbolic neutral thumb may point upwards to a lucrative franchise, or downwards to a quick death, based on the chants of the viewers.

Either way, it raises the question of intention: why bring back a richly enjoyable story like this without advancing it in some way? Huge sums of money and the technical challenge of outdoing the original in special effects are doubtless the driving factors, but what about the audience?

Gladiator II is so limited by its homage to the original that it even taps the lexicon of Spartacus (1960), in what is another heavy-handed moment. An animated tapestry of vignettes from the original film opens this sequel, and later we see a close-up of Lucius’s hands, intercut with the iconography of Maximus gently brushing his fingers against waving stalks of wheat.

Although it’s not a shot-for-shot remake, it’s certainly a scenario-for-scenario duplicate (similar to George Lucas’s 2015 Star Wars: The Force Awakens and 1977’s Star Wars: A New Hope) that goes in with big spectacular set pieces while neglecting a compelling plot to develop the gladiator story.

Gladiator II is undoubtedly worth watching, if not remembering. Pascal’s four-minute arena battle as Oberyn Martell in Game of Thrones is perhaps more likely to stick in the cultural memory than some of the fighting in Gladiator II. Not because the fighting  or cinematography in Game of Thrones is necessarily superior, but because characterisation and vengeance are revealed during that battle, peppering the action with story, drive and intention  ~all of which feel a little absent in Gladiator II.

To me, this would have been better served as a ten-part series ~ one which keeps the scale of the action, but also offers a space for the drama and characterisation too. It might yet happen.

Maybe the blockbuster is no longer the space for character development, but that’s not to say I was not entertained. After all, was that not the point of ancient gladiators? But go and see it for yourself – at the very least, it will make you want to watch Russell Crowe in the original again.

Daniel O'Brien, Lecturer, Department of Literature Film and Theatre Studies, University of Essex

Film: Gladiator II Features a Naval Battle Held in the Colosseum: These Brutal Spectacles Really Happened

'Naumachia' an imaginative recreation of the staged battles held for mass entertainment in Ancient Rome, by Ulpiano Checa, and first exhibited in 1894. 

By Craig Barker

It’s one of the most thrilling sequences in Ridley Scott’s new film Gladiator II, the long-awaited sequel to the 2000 Oscar-winning blockbuster.

Water gushes from the Colosseum’s fountains and floods the arena. A crew of men led by the film’s hero, Lucius Verus (played by Paul Mescal), row a warship while firing arrows at another ship. Sharks loom in the surrounding water, while the Emperor Caracalla (Fred Hechinger) watches on laughing.

Gladiator II trailer.

It’s Hollywood’s first re-enactment of an ancient Roman naval battle – and it’s spectacular. The special effects from this sequence will have been a major component of the film’s reported US$310 million budget.

But is there much history to be found here, especially given Ridley Scott’s disdain for historical realities in his films? Did the Romans watch naval battles as entertainment?

Whatever is viewed in the circus and the amphitheatre […] let this be the only sea fight known to posterity.
– Martial in Liber Spectaculorum, book 28

War on the water

The term “naumachia” refers to both the staging of naval battles for mass entertainment and the structure or natural feature in which these recreations took place. Naumachiae did exist. And while they seem to have been rare, the death rates would have been high.

Much of what we know of them (and what is written in this article) comes from writing from a handful of historians, including Suetonius, Dio Cassius and Tacitus.

This fresco wall painting on a panel from the Temple of Isis in Pompeii depicts a naumachia. Wikimedia/Naples National Archaeological Museum, CC BY-SA

The earliest known naumachia was hosted by Julius Caesar in 46 BCE. Suetonius describes a basin dug near the Tiber river, in Rome’s Campus Martius area, which was large enough to host ships with more than 2,000 combatants and 4,000 rowers – all prisoners of war.

An even grander event was held in 2 BCE by the emperor Augustus for the inauguration of the Temple of Mars Ultor. It was held on an artificial lake, or “stagnum”, spanning more than 530 metres by 350 metres. An estimated 270,000 cubic metres of water would have been required to fill it.

This naumachia featured the reenactment of a naval battle between the “Athenians” and “Persians”. According to Augustus himself, more than 3,000 men fought in 30 vessels.

The largest recorded naumachia came some years later. This reenactment of battle between the “Rhodians” and “Sicilians” was staged by Claudius in 52 CE on the natural lake in Abruzzo, Italy. The event consisted of 100 naval ships and 19,000 combatants – all prisoners who had been condemned to death.

According Dio Cassius, the condemned men saluted Claudius with the phrase Ave imperator, morituri te salutant, or “Hail emperor, those who are about to die salute you”. Although this phrase is now commonly and erroneously assumed to have been spoken by gladiators prior to combat, this remains the only recorded example of its use.

Naumachiae were commonly presented as historical or pseudo-historical reenactments of real naval conflicts. Claudius’ spectacle, for instance, was between fleets representing the “Rhodians” and the “Sicilians”.

Naumachiae in amphitheatres

A new development took place in the 1st century CE: naumachiae began being performed in amphitheatres. The earliest recorded event took place in 57 CE under the rule of emperor Nero, in a wooden structure thought to have been located in the Campus Martius.

For the inauguration of the Flavian amphitheatre (the Colosseum) in 80 CE, Emperor Titus presented two naumachiae: one in Augustus’ stagnum and the other in the Colosseum itself. Titus’ successor, Domitian, is also said to have flooded the Colosseum to host a naumachia circa 85 CE.

The term naumachiae became less frequent in historical literature after the Flavian era (69–96 CE). There’s no evidence the Colosseum was hosting naumachiae as late as the 3rd century, when Gladiator II is set.

Other water spectacles across the Empire

There is some better-preserved evidence of aquatic spectacles on a smaller scale outside of Rome. In Spain, ampitheatres at Verona and Mérida feature central basins connected to water supply and drainage channels.

However, only modest naumachiae would have been possible in these – the arenas presumably covered with wooden floorboards when not used for this purpose.

The ampitheatre at Mérida, Spain, with a sunken basin visible in the centre of the arena. Wikimedia, CC BY-SA

Water was also used in other forms of entertainment, such as to display marine animals. For instance, in 2 BCE 36 crocodiles were released in a flooded arena and hunted. It was also common for female swimmers to portray Nereids (water nymphs) in flooded arenas, similar to modern artistic swimming.

However, there is no evidence of sharks ever being on display – despite Ridley Scott’s insistence.

A case study from Cyprus

Just as there is evidence of older Roman theatres being converted for gladiator contests and beast hunts, there is also strong evidence of theatres having been modified for aquatic spectacles. This includes theatres in the Greek cities of Corinth and Argos, as well as in Ostia, Italy.

Recent investigations by University of Sydney archaeologists have revealed further evidence of such modifications at the site of Paphos in Cyprus.

They’ve found evidence of the Paphos theatre’s orchestra being converted for water spectacles in the mid-third century – its floor covered with a cement and coloured stone. With an estimated capacity of 310 cubic metres, this theatre was likely too small to host naumachiae, but would have been ideal for displaying animals or water nymphs.

A semicircular containment wall about one metre high separated the audience from the action, while drains and terracotta pipes indicate the flow of water from a large reservoir excavated behind the theatre. Analysis of the plaster on the floor has also confirmed it was waterproof.

The site provides a valuable contribution to our understanding of Roman water spectacles.

In this photo of the Paphos theatre, you can see the semi-circular containment wall surrounding the orchestra. This wall acted as abarrier between the arena and the audience in the third century CE. Photo by Bob Miller/Paphos Theatre Archaeological Project, CC BY-SA

So when you’re watching the naval battle in Gladiator II, it’s worth remembering how the ancient Romans viewed this spectacle in much the same way. Just like back then, a lot of money was spent to bring this entertainment to life.

Luckily, nobody had to die this time around.

Craig Barker, Head, Public Engagement, Chau Chak Wing Museum, University of Sydney

Maria Anna Mozart Musical Prodigy Overshadowed by Her Brother: A New Documentary Tells Her Story

Portrait of Maria Anna Mozart by Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni (1763)

By Diane Charleson, Australian Catholic University

Award-winning director Madeleine Hetherton-Miau’s latest offering is an evocative and hard-hitting documentary with a strong message. Mozart’s Sister investigates the life of Maria Anna Mozart, the older sister of the more famous Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

The film portrays a sensitive and well-researched investigation into Maria Anna’s life – illuminating how the draconian attitudes that prevailed during her time condemned her to a lesser life than her brother, even though she was similarly talented.

It also reminds us of the importance of championing women musicians today, as “if we don’t encourage women now, it (discrimination) only repeats”.

Who was Maria Anna Mozart?

Maria Anna was the first-born child of Leopold Mozart. He himself was a musician and composer and had his daughter schooled in music from a very young age.

Maria showed amazing talent – a child prodigy in playing and composing. When Wolfgang was born, he quickly became engrossed in playing and composing music with his sister.

Mozart’s Sister features wonderfully poignant recreations of this childhood bond over music – emphasising the siblings’ playfulness and engagement with music in a noncompetitive way.

Leopold recognised his children’s prodigious talents. He soon had them travelling and playing concerts all over Europe, where they were lauded by the highest aristocracy. Maria Anna and Wolfgang were inseparable during this time and composed many works together.

Maria Anna and Wolfgang composed many works together. Madeleine Hetherton-Miau

Women musicians in the 18th century

But all of this came to an abrupt end when Maria Anna turned 15. As custom would dictate, it was considered unsuitable and unseemly for a girl of that age to perform in public, likening this form of public performance to that of a prostitute.

The film portrays the unfortunate fate that befell many 18th-century women who wanted to pursue a career in music. Regardless of their aptitude, these women would have no real career prospects. They were even banned from playing musical instruments deemed unseemly, including the violin and cello.

Composing and playing music was largely taken up by the nuns in monasteries. As Mozart’s Sister highlights, even though this was a time of enlightenment, this “enlightenment” was reserved for men – and white men at that. It definitely didn’t flow on to women.

Maria Anna was forced to stay home while Wolfgang continued pursuing music uninterrupted – and the rest is history.

Maria Anna’s musical talents weren’t encouraged the way her younger brother’s were. Shannon Ruddock

The film ponders what it must have been like for her to be left at home, away from her brother (who was once her constant companion) and unable to play as she used to. Her life is poignantly illustrated through her diary entries, which are mainly filled with references to the weather, as though nothing else was happening for her.

Maria Anna eventually married, but continued to practice music each day. Upon her husband’s death – now a woman of means and a baroness in her 50s – she returned to solo concert performances.

A documentary on two levels

Mozart’s Sister is a documentary that functions on many levels.

On one level, it’s a biopic that portrays Maria Anna’s story through recreations of her childhood in Austria, with a voiceover narration and interviews highlighting her relationship with her brother. Much is shot on location in Austria and framed through the perspective of present-day museum curators and experts.

On another level, the film is a broader statement on the underrepresentation of female composers. I thought the director did an excellent job in portraying this duality through the juxtaposition of Maria Anna’s trajectory with the young British composer Alma Deustger. Deustger displayed many of the characteristics we could imagine Maria Anna having.

Like Maria Anna, Deustger is a brilliant modern-day composer with a deep appreciation for for composing and conducting. But unlike Maria, she has been able to pursue her passion and turn it into a career. I was particularly struck by the film’s closing, in which Deustger discusses writing her waltz based on the police sirens of New York.

Mozart’s Sister follows a recent literary trend of discussions of appropriation – and the overlooking of talented women in history who have been overshadowed by their more famous male counterparts. Anna Funder’s Wifedom and Hernan Diaz’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book Trust are two other examples of this.

It is an interesting and provocative film that will appeal to classical music lovers, as well as those interested more broadly in the issue of female underrepresentation in the arts.

Diane Charleson, Senior Lecturer in media School of Arts Australian Catholic University, Australian Catholic University

The Study of Dreams: Scientists Uncover New Communication Channels with Dreamers

In 1981, Keith Hearne and Stephen Laberge asked dreamers to send 'telegrams' to the outside world. More than 30 years later, scientists continue to blaze trails to communicate with the sleeping mind. Johannes Plenio/Unsplash CC BY

By Başak Türker, Institut du Cerveau (ICM) et Delphine Oudiette, Inserm

In his sci-fi film Inception (2010), Christophe Nolan imagined his protagonist slipping into other people’s dreams and even shaping their contents. But what if this story wasn’t so far away from real life?

Our research suggests that it is possible to interact with volunteers while they are asleep, and even to converse with them at certain key moments.

The scientific study of dreams

While we sometimes wake up with vivid memories from our nocturnal adventures, at others the impression of a dreamless night prevails.

Research shows we remember on average one to three dreams per week. However, not everyone is equal when it comes to recalling dreams. People who say they never dream make up around 2.7 to 6.5% of the population. Often, these people used to recall their dreams when they were children. The proportion of people who say they have never dreamt in their entire life is very low: 0.38%.

Whether people remember their dreams depends on many factors such as gender (women remember their dreams more frequently than men), one’s interest in dreams, as well as the way dreams are collected (some might find it handy to keep track of them with a “dream journal” or a recorder, for example).

The private and fleeting nature of dreams makes it tricky for scientists to capture them. Nowadays, however, thanks to knowledge acquired in the field of neuroscience, it is possible to classify a person’s state of alertness by analysing their brain activity, muscle tone and eye movements. Scientists can thus determine whether a person is asleep, and what stage of sleep they are in: sleep onset, light slow wave sleep, deep slow wave sleep or rapid eye movement (REM) sleep.

What this physiological data does not do is tell us whether a sleeper is dreaming (dreams can occur in all stages of sleep), let alone what they’re dreaming about. Researchers don’t have access to the dream experience as it happens. They are therefore forced to rely on the dreamer’s account upon waking, with no guarantee that this account is faithful to what happened in the sleeper’s head.

What one dreams about remains a well-kept secret. Михаил Калегин/Unsplash

Moreover, to understand what happens in the brain while dreaming – and what purpose this activity serves – we would need to be able to compare brain activity during times when dreams occur with those when they are absent. It is therefore imperative to determine precisely when dreams occur in order to further the science of dreams.

To achieve this, it would be ideal to be able to communicate with sleepers. Impossible? Not for everyone - that’s where lucid dreamers come in.

Lucid dreaming

Most of us only realise we’ve been dreaming upon waking. Lucid dreamers, on the other hand, have the unique ability to remain aware of the dreaming process during REM sleep, a stage of sleep during which brain activity is closer to that of the waking phase.

Even more surprisingly, lucid dreamers can sometimes exercise partial control over their dream’s narrative. They are then able to fly away, make people appear or disappear, change the weather or transform themselves into animals. In short, the possibilities are endless.

Such lucid dreams can occur spontaneously or be engineered by specific training. The existence of lucid dreaming has been known since ancient times, but for a long time it was considered esoteric and unworthy of scientific exploration.

Such views have changed thanks to a clever experiment set up by psychologist Keith Hearne and psychophysiologist Stephen Laberge in the 1980s. These two researchers set out to prove that lucid dreamers were indeed asleep when they realised they were dreaming. Departing from the observation that REM sleep is characterised by rapid eye movements while one’s eyes are shut (hence the name ‘Rapid Eye Movement sleep’), they asked themselves the following question: would it be possible to use this property to ask the sleeper to send a “telegram” from their dream to the world around them?

Hearne and Laberge recruited lucid dreamers to try to find out. They agreed with them before they fell asleep on the telegram to be sent: the participants would have to make specific eye movements, such as moving their gaze from left to right three times, as soon as they became aware that they were dreaming. And while they were objectively in REM sleep, the lucid dreamers did just that.

The new communication code allowed researchers from then on to detect dreaming stages in real time. The work paved the way for many research projects in which lucid dreamers act as undercover agents in the dream world, carrying out missions (such as holding one’s breath in a dream) and signalling them to the experimenters using the eye code.

It is now possible to combine such experiments with brain imaging techniques to study the brain regions involved in lucid dreaming. This represents a huge step forward in the quest for a better understanding of dreams and how they are formed.

In 2021, almost 40 years after the pioneering work of Hearne and Laberge, our study in collaboration with academics from around the world has taken us even further.

From fiction to reality: talking to the dreamer

We already knew that lucid dreamers were capable of sending information from their dreams. But can they also receive it? In other words, is it possible to talk to a lucid dreamer? To find out, we exposed a lucid dreamer to tactile stimuli while he was asleep. We also asked him closed questions such as “Do you like chocolate?”.

He was able to respond by smiling to indicate “Yes” and by frowning to indicate “No”. Lucid dreamers were also presented with simple mathematical equations verbally. They were able to provide appropriate answers while remaining asleep.

Of course, lucid dreamers didn’t always respond, far from it. But the fact that they sometimes did (18% of cases in our study) opened a communication channel between experimenters and dreamers.

However, lucid dreaming remains a rare phenomenon and even lucid dreamers are not lucid all the time or throughout REM sleep. Was the communication portal we had opened limited to “lucid” REM sleep alone? To find out, we undertook further work.

Expanding the communication portal

To find out whether we could communicate in the same way with any sleeper, whatever their stage of sleep, we conducted experiments with non-lucid dreaming volunteers without sleeping disorders, as well as with people suffering from narcolepsy. This disease, which causes involuntary sleep, sleep paralysis and an early onset of the REM phase, is associated with an increased propensity for lucid dreaming.

In our latest experiment, we presented participants with existing words (e.g. “pizza”) and others that we made up (e.g. “ditza”) across all sleep stages. We asked them to smile or frown to signal whether the word had been made up or not. Unsurprisingly, people with narcolepsy were able to respond when they were lucid in REM sleep, confirming our results from 2021.

More surprisingly, both groups of participants were also able to respond to our verbal stimuli in most stages of sleep, even in the absence of lucid dreaming. The volunteers were able to respond intermittently, as if windows of connection with the outside world were opening temporarily at certain precise moments.

We were even able to determine the composition of brain activity conducive to these moments of openness to the outside world. By analysing it before the stimuli were presented, we were able to predict whether the sleepers would respond or not.

Why do such windows of connection with the outside world exist? We can put forward the hypothesis that the brain developed in a context where a minimum of cognitive processing was necessary during sleep. We can imagine, for example, that our ancestors had to remain attentive to external stimuli while they were asleep, in case a predator approached. Similarly, we know that a mother’s brain reacts preferentially to her baby’s cries during sleep.

Our results suggest that it is now possible to “talk” to any sleeper, whatever stage of sleep they are in. By refining the brain markers that predict the moments of connection with the outside world, it should be possible to further optimise communication protocols in the future.

This breakthrough paves the way for real-time dialogue with sleepers, offering researchers the chance to explore the mysteries of dreams as they happen. But if the line between science fiction and reality is getting thinner, rest assured: neuroscientists are still a long way from being able to decipher your wildest fantasies.

Başak Türker, Chercheuse postdoctorale, Institut du Cerveau (ICM) et Delphine Oudiette, Chercheure en neurosciences cognitives, Inserm

Paris’s Iconic Centre Pompidou: A Cultural Superstar Facing Economic and Environmental Challenges

The Centre Pomidou will have to close its doors work for renovation work between 2025 and 2030

By Marie Ballarini, Université Paris Dauphine – PSL

Whether known as the Centre Pompidou or simply Beaubourg, this Parisian landmark is set to close its doors from 2025 to 2030 for extensive renovations. Criticised and even mocked at its opening, the Centre Pompidou has since earned its place as an iconic fixture in the Parisian landscape and a major player on the international museum scene. We take a closer look at the institution’s fragile and unconventional business model as it approaches its 50th anniversary.

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Inaugurated in 1977, France’s Centre Pompidou will soon celebrate its 50th birthday. This milestone will coincide with its full closure from 2025 to 2030 for much-needed renovations to upgrade and restructure the building.

During the closure, the museum will continue to expand in other ways. A new site will open in Massy (in Essonne department), designed to house its reserves and serve as an exhibition and cultural space. Additionally, the Centre Pompidou plans to strengthen its international presence through temporary exhibitions abroad.

Bruno S. Frey developed the concept of a “museum superstar”, an iconic cultural institution that attracts significant numbers of visitors and generates considerable revenue from commercialising their spaces and collections. These museums, including the Centre Pompidou, play a crucial role in their local economies.

An unsustainable business model

Unlike other superstar museums such as the Louvre or the Musée d’Orsay, however, the Centre Pompidou lacks a blockbuster home attraction like the Mona Lisa. This absence of universally recognisable works makes its economic model more fragile, despite its dynamic programming and bold architecture.

In 2022, the Centre Pompidou’s total budget revenue was just under 132 million euros ($144 million currently), with 69% coming from public funding – a significantly higher proportion than at the Louvre (44%) or the Musée d’Orsay (45%). The centre’s self-generated revenue, though slightly improved since the post-pandemic period, accounted for just 31% of its total income, down from 34% in 2019. Ticketing revenue, crucial for the Centre’s financial independence, dropped by 18% compared to 2019, despite a 2022 overhaul of the fee structure. On a positive note, patronage income increased by 8%, to 6.1 million euros, and revenue from off-site exhibitions and international locations surged by 43%, partially compensating for losses in other areas, according to the centre’s annual reports.

Despite this, France’s national audit office has noted that the museum’s diversification strategy lacks a clear structure and falls short of transparency requirements regarding costs. The centre has frequently adopted a pragmatic approach to solicitations, undermining the long-term sustainability of its economic model.

France 24.

Balancing economic growth and environmental responsibility

The Centre Pompidou’s economic strategy faces two key challenges, particularly its ticketing: rising competition from private contemporary art institutions in Paris and the ecological consequences of higher visitor numbers.

New contemporary art institutions such as the Fondation Louis Vuitton and the Pinault Collection have reshaped Paris’ cultural landscape. While these venues could be seen as rivals, they also boost Paris’s overall status as a hub for contemporary art, attracting a diverse and informed international audience. The Centre Pompidou benefits from this dynamic ecosystem, though it must compete with these institutions’ financial resources and collections.

Competing yet complementary

Despite the increasing competition in recent years, the Centre Pompidou continues to thrive as a leading venue for modern and contemporary art, thanks to its rich collection and innovative programming. Recent examples include “Évidence” and the immersive exhibition “Noire”.

Paris’s global prominence in the contemporary art world presents both opportunities and challenges for the Centre Pompidou. On one hand, it faces competition from institutions that have iconic collections and even greater financial resources. On the other, it benefits from this vibrant environment, allowing it to maintain its status as a premier cultural destination and strengthen its foothold in the global art market. To fully capitalise on this ecosystem, however, the centre must continue to innovate and adapt to evolving economic and cultural realities, while staying true to its mission of promoting contemporary art.

Environmental challenges

One of the museum’s most pressing challenges is balancing economic growth with environmental sustainability. According to its “Responding to the Environmental Emergency: Action Plan 2023-2025,” the Centre Pompidou is working to reduce its carbon footprint. This is crucial, as 82% of a museum’s carbon impact comes from visitors, particularly international ones who travel by air – an especially polluting for of transport.

Interestingly, the museum’s somewhat lower appeal to foreign tourists, which the national audit office has criticised, may actually prove beneficial in terms of environmental impact. By attracting more domestic visitors, the centre can minimise the carbon emissions associated with international travel, making it a more sustainable institution in the long term.

A sustainable but less profitable approach?

This focus on a national audience could prove to be a sustainable long-term strategy, at a time when ecological concerns are a growing concern. It also strengthens the museum’s local roots, making it more resilient to fluctuations in international tourism and global crises. Nevertheless, this strategy comes at an economic cost, as local audiences are more likely to benefit from reduced or free rates.

While international exhibitions and expansion can provide additional revenue, they also present ecological challenges. Transporting works of art across the globe adds to the museum’s carbon footprint, even as it strives to bring exhibitions closer to international audiences. Additionally, major real estate projects, such as the renovation of the Centre’s historic building and the construction of a new site in Massy, are key to its modernisation but come with considerable environmental costs.

As it prepares for five years of renovations, the Centre must find a way to balance its financial needs with the growing urgency of environmental responsibility. To secure its future, the museum will need to strengthen its financial viability while continuing to pioneer in the world of contemporary art and adapt to the changing demands of the 21st century.

Marie Ballarini, Professeur assistant, Université Paris Dauphine – PSL