David Lister: The Week in Arts

Now this must be the stupidest name change of the year. The National Film Theatre has decided to rename itself BFI Southbank. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Yes, that's the National Film Theatre, the one that's something of a national institution and has name recognition even among those who have never actually sat in its hushed auditoria.

Having spent years getting the sort of name recognition that most arts institutions would die for, it has decided to give itself three boring initials, short for an administrative body, the British Film Institute, which has none of the romance and flavour of art-house movies among fellow film buffs that the old NFT conjured up.

The new institution, to be launched next month, will add exhibitions, masterclasses and other ventures to the cinemas. But why change the name? Amanda Nevill, head of the BFI, says: "The developed site [referring to the NFT building] will be a 'front door' to all BFI activities. For this reason, when the building officially reopens, the NFT will simply be known as the BFI, as an outward statement of what we do."

And National Film Theatre wasn't an outward statement of what they do, I suppose.

As for the Southbank on the end, it means it's branding time again - and no arts conglomerate likes to brand and rebrand itself as much as the South Bank. Over the years I've watched it call itself the South Bank Centre. Then for a time it was SBC, and now I notice it's Southbank Centre. How that lower case b gives that cutting-edge touch. How the NFT must have loved getting a bit of that lower-case action. Laugh? I almost did. Almost, because each rebranding is not only a waste of time, it is also a waste of money. New brochures, signage, posters and flags are made to mirror each new affectation.

Next door to the South Bank Centre, there's the National Theatre, or is it the Royal National Theatre. Technically, it is royal, the one bad move that occurred during Richard Eyre's regime, as the addition changed a much-loved name among theatre-goers. The present artistic director, Nicholas Hytner, seems less keen to stress the word royal. Programmes and logos have the initials NT, not RNT, on them. Yet it remains the Royal National Theatre. Confused? Me too.

Keep walking down the riverbank. You come to the Tate. Except you don't. You come to Tate. Sir Nicholas Serota has dispensed with the definite article. What harm did it ever do him? So we should all be talking about the excellent exhibitions at Tate, rather than the Tate,when discussing their two London galleries. It's not English; it's not elegant; it's not comfortable. It's artspeak.

And, it's not only the London monoliths that go name-change crazy. Probably my favourite of all is the Poole Arts Centre in Dorset, which changed its name to The Lighthouse. One can all too easily imagine the sobbing children as holidaymakers thought they were going to see a lighthouse, only to find a performance by a Canadian dance troupe. The venue now tries to have the best of both worlds, calling itself with Serota-esque disdain of the definite article, Lighthouse, Poole's Centre for the Arts.

But of all the needless messing about with famous arts names, the change of National Film Theatre to BFI Southbank is the nearest to sheer vandalism. It shouldn't be allowed, and NFT regulars ought to campaign against it. They should march from the NFT via the NT to the Tate, or is that from BFI Southbank via SBC to Tate stopping off at RNT for tea? Whichever it is, I'd like the National Film Theatre back.

A diva like no other

It's not often Dawn French is upstaged for comic improvisation. But she is at the Royal Opera House. French has a non-singing role in the current production of Donizetti's comic opera, La Fille du Régiment, and very funny she is. But even she cannot compete with what must be the most energetic and captivating performance on the London stage at the moment.

Natalie Dessay, pictured, the soprano, not only has one of the best voices in the business, but in this opera is a mesmerising mixture of energy, ever-changing facial expressions and exquisite comic timing. And it wasn't even over when the perfectly proportioned lady sang.

At the performance I attended this week, she made the curtain call her own by first touching her toes and then pinching the conductor's baton and mock-conducting the orchestra. Not a lot of divas do that. The last person to play the role at Covent Garden was Dame Joan Sutherland, opposite Pavarotti. I doubt that she touched her toes, and I'm quite sure he didn't.

* Next Wednesday As You Like It opens in Sheffield. It is directed by Sam West. He is the artistic director of Sheffield Theatres - but not for much longer.

West, actor, director and son of the celebrated acting couple Timothy West and Prunella Scales, has handed in his resignation, a mere two years after taking up the post. It seems that West and the board have fallen out over his desire to do some freelance work while the theatre is closed for renovation.

It seems a small reason for Sheffield to lose such a talent. But we can't be totally sure what the row is about. No doubt both the board and West will let us know the full story.

Theatre is never shy of satirising the resignations and strife of politicians and others. I'm sure that all involved in the departure of West at Sheffield will be eager to tell their public the full facts.