Waldemar Januszczak art critic
The best things that have happened this year have happened because of women. At Tate Modern, the crazily expensive extension was given something real to achieve by the brave decision of its first female director, Frances Morris, to insist that 50% of the exhibitors were women. Two revolutionary shows — Hilma af Klint at the Serpentine and Georgiana Houghton at the Courtauld — managed to rewrite art history. Both proved abstraction was invented by women painters much earlier than we suspected. And Georgia O’Keeffe’s lookback was riveting, as were those for Maria Lassnig and Mona Hatoum. The Bosch show at the Prado, in Madrid, was my event of the year, closely followed by Abstract Expressionism at the Royal Academy. Big pictures in big rooms.
Camilla Long film critic
Two films this year nailed exactly what it means to be human. One showed a man at the edge of mental despair. The other had him utterly broken in body. The Revenant was a stunning, savage, raw beastie of a film, featuring Leonardo DiCaprio as the fur trapper Hugh Glass. It presented the unforgettable sight of DiCaprio physically dragging himself to an Oscar, grunting in pain, ribs half torn out from a bear attack, obviously revelling in the sheer stubborn arseholishness of a red-blooded American folk hero. Anomalisa, by contrast, showed the grey misery of the American everyman, a travelling businessman who appeared to be suffering every single crisis on offer: a midlife crisis, an existential crisis, a crisis of confidence, love, life. On top of this, he was a puppet, rushing through hotel corridors as he failed to deal with even the simplest of tasks, his head physically collapsing. Both crushing films.
Christopher Hart theatre critic
Well, as this was the year of our thrilling Rebirth as a Nation, perhaps the most glorious in our proud island story since 1688, it’s hard to think of other reasons we need to be cheerful. But in case you crave yet more innocent fun, no question, School of Rock wins it hands down. Andrew Lloyd Webber and Julian Fellowes turned the Jack Black movie into a superb stage musical, with irresistible, foot-stomping rock songs and a fantastically talented cast of unstoppably energetic schoolchildren. An unforgettable celebration of young energy and creative chaos.
There was also a marvellous Travesties with Tom Hollander; Hugh Bonneville on sterling form as Dr Stockmann in Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People; and, strangest and most haunting of all, Kathryn Hunter’s virtually one-woman portrayal of the decline and fall of Haile Selassie in The Emperor. A great year.
Jonathan Dean senior writer
The TV comedy series Fleabag is miserable — so bleak that you ache for series two, if only in the hope that things will get better for its writer/star Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s grieving character. Yet it made me feel good. It’s the most sharply observed London sitcom in memory, and the laughs, just, outweigh the gloom. What really lifts the spirits is its showcasing of innovative talent. Waller-Bridge is sensational, an all too rare example of the BBC thinking about young viewers and funding something new, as opposed to repackaging fusty shows from the 1970s. Flogged as Britain’s answer to Girls, Fleabag was significantly funnier and, crucially, had a hell of a lot more heart.
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Hugh Canning music critic
Mark Wigglesworth’s sadly curtailed music directorship of English National Opera at least produced some of the greatest performances the company has delivered since the “golden age” of Sir Charles Mackerras. His conducting of a revival of David Alden’s Jenufa, of a new production of Don Giovanni by Richard Jones and of a transfer of Lulu — an Amsterdam/New York collaboration with the South African artist William Kentridge — proclaimed his gifts as a visionary, evangelising music director of a theatre-led opera ensemble. It was an emphatic affirmation of the beleaguered ENO’s company principle. Wigglesworth will be sorely missed, by audiences as well as the company, and his brief tenure will come to be regarded as a second musical golden age.
Stephen Armstrong comedy critic
When there are more new TV shows than days of the year, it takes an awful lot to become a word-of-mouth must-see. Netflix’s Stranger Things managed this almost overnight. Its cast of mainly unknowns paid homage to the horror films of the 1980s, when Europe had an Iron Curtain and US institutions were up to all sorts in the name of security. Closer to home, the compellingly watchable Riz Ahmed leapt from British TV and indie cinema to the Hollywood mainstream with his lead in HBO’s The Night Of, as well as roles in Bourne and Rogue One. A star is finally born.
For heroic live comedy — probably Kieran Hodgson, Richard Gadd, Nish Kumar and Lolly Adefope. You’ve got to laugh, right?
Paul Donovan radio writer
Set against the grim roll call of the radio voices (Wogan, Jimmy Young, Ed Stewart et al) who died this year were the newcomers. Radio 5 Live ran a Young Commentator of the Year award: the winner, 12-year-old Thomas Wilkins of London, clearly knows, and loves, his rugby. David Pickard, the new Proms boss, initiated four new venues, including a multistorey car park in Peckham. Aditi Mittal, a female stand-up from Mumbai and one of Forbes India’s 30 Under 30, made her (terrific) debut in Radio 4’s prime comedy slot last week. Soweto Kinch launched Jazz Now on Monday nights. There was the first lecture ever to be delivered by a machine, not a person (when Stephen Hawking gave the Reith lectures), and the first “space beam” — the first radio show ever to be broadcast into space (from Cornwall, on In Tune, Dec 7).
Helen Hawkins Culture editor
A line of tap-dancing noses at Covent Garden; the Finnish soprano Karita Mattila raising the hairs on my neck with the pure dramatic power of her voice in Jenufa; Germany’s most extraordinary actor hoisting himself up and hanging by one leg from a meat hook as Richard III; breathtaking performances from the pianists Stephen Hough and Igor Levit; Ed Harris, riveting just sitting on a sofa, silently grimacing. Quite a lot of reasons to be cheerful there. But the best night of my year was Akram Khan’s version of the Giselle story, danced by English National Ballet like people possessed. I’m usually sceptical of the label “fusion”, but here a magical blend of kathak and classical dance had been created that was rhythmic and driving, yet delicate enough to tell you when Giselle’s heart and mind were broken.
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Dan Cairns pop critic
Yes, the weather helped; ditto the perfect mix of family and friends I spent the weekend with. But you got the feeling that the music on offer at last summer’s Latitude festival could have withstood thunderstorms and indifferent company, and still emerged triumphant. I watched two of my favourite bands, the Maccabees and the National, close the main stage on consecutive evenings beneath starlit skies, in performances that ambushed my heart and will stay for ever stamped on my memory. Equally unforgettable were sets by Grimes and Christine and the Queens. I danced like a dervish and sang myself hoarse, with loved ones around me. It was one of the happiest weekends of my life, reminding me that music retains the power to transport you.
Louis Wise associate Culture editor
My cheering moment of the year was seeing the career rehabilitation of Craig David. Like many, I saw in the last new year singing along to the British R&B/garage star’s oldest hits, with little inkling that what was then looking like a small comeback would actually become a “thing”. David was for a long time only known for his career slump after conquering the early Noughties; he was a joke and an eyeroll, not least thanks to Avid Merrion’s grotesque impersonation of him. But he has enjoyed a stellar 2016, and on his own terms: not just flogging his old songs, but purveying new music too. Having interviewed him earlier this year, I think he deserves it: he seems a sweet, innocent sort. My only hope now is that he has moved out of the Sofitel Heathrow, where he was living. Surely he can do better?