Royalty, reactionaries and revolutions: some brief recommendations

OK, so it's been a bit quiet around here for a little while. Trouble is, whenever I get round to almost-posting about something, I find somebody else has already been there, done that, and usually better than I could. Or I put it off to a time when I'm less preoccupied, and then the moment has passed, and the world has moved on (and it's all moving so quickly at the moment...).

So in the absence of anything new from me (and I will try to do better, honest), here's what I think you should be reading elsewhere (if you haven't done so already):

A brace of articles from Hitch. One on human rights organisations finally noticing that the worst abusers of human rights in Afghanistan might not be NATO troops. And a couple of pieces on truth and fiction in The King's Speech. I wish the film well at the Oscars on Sunday, but I think Hitch is right to remind us of the historical facts, and to pour a bit of cold water on the sentimental monarchism that the movie is in danger of engendering.

Bob has a great post on the reactionary nature of Ken Livingstone's mis-named 'progressive' alliance for London.

Difficult to keep up with the pace of events in North Africa and the Middle East, but Michael Weiss is good on Gaddafi, and Michael J. Totten has re-posted his revealing report on his visit to Libya a few years back.

For the latest from Libya, this site seems fairly reliable, and Mona Eltahawy continues to do a great job of pulling together all the news from the democratic awakening in the Arab world.

New Year miscellany

First, exceedingly cold day back at work (well, trawling in a desultory fashion through two weeks of unread emails and re-acquainting myself with stuff I wrote before Christmas, in a vain effort to remember what the hell I was thinking....), so less time for extended posting. To fill the temporary gap, here are a few links to others who are keeping up the good work:

Andrew on why the humanism of the original version of Miracle on 34th Street is superior to the sentimental and thinly-disguised pro-faithism of the re-make (though in our household I'm afraid Richard Attenborough is Santa Claus).

For balance: Michael Sean Winters on hopes for 2010, from the perspective of a Catholic Democrat, yearning for a revival of the Catholic social justice tradition.

And finally The New Centrist links to an important piece by Ernest Sternberg on the 'new radical ideology' of the anti-globalisation, anti-western, anti-Zionist left (though I'm still sceptical about whether this disparate movement of oppositionalists is actually for anything).

Happy New Year.

Keith Waterhouse, R.I.P.

The death of Keith Waterhouse has just been announced.

Despite his later self-reinvention as a florid-faced Daily Mail columnist of the 'We're all going to hell in a handcart' variety, he'll be best remembered for his earlier work, especially the screenplay for Whistle Down The Wind in which Alan Bates plays an escaped murderer hiding in a barn, mistaken for Christ by some local children (best line: 'He's not Jesus, he's just a feller!'), and of course for the immortal Billy Liar.

Confession time: I played the title role in a best-forgotten amateur production in Manchester in the early Eighties. I think the reason I got the part was that the only other person in the cast of the right age was an ex-public schoolboy whose attempt at a Yorkshire accent was even more execrable than mine. Tom Courtenay and Julie Christie did a rather better job:

Aux armes, citoyens!

Like Modernity, I forgot to mark Bastille Day yesterday (though, lowbrow that I am, I did take a peek at the photos of the Sarkozys getting frisky at the official celebrations). And like Mod, I'm a sucker for the Marseillaise, especially this version from Casablanca. (Thought for the day: All men secretly wish they were Victor Laszlo, are lucky if they have the odd moment of nobility like Rick, but most of the time end up behaving like Captain Renault.)

Loach, Garaudy and the reactionary left

Via Poumista, and of relevance to these two posts: I came across this piece at Principia Dialectica about censorship-loving film director Ken Loach's support for Oliver Besancenot's new French anti-everything party. I loved the description of Loach as 'the Ken Barlow of film', and this summary of the Respect-supporting film-maker's oeuvre made me chuckle:

Loach is an exponent of dire social-realism, all kitchen sink docudramas, he always aims for the lowest common denominator. His films are as erotic as an old Soviet Union tractor, and as funny as an evening in Butlin's. The scenario dished out by Loach is all very simple, a sort of manichean world point of view:

Palestinians: good

Israelis: bad

The North of England: good

The South of England: bad

Chavez: good

The USA: BAD

Work: very good (he doesn't even allow tea breaks when shooting his boring films)

Money: bad

Man: bad

Woman: good

The list is endless.

Speaking of the reactionary left: the same site also has news of French Stalinist-turned-Islamist Roger Garaudy, about whom I wrote in this post, who apparently has turned up in Spain:

A certain Roger GARAUDY, once the chief ideologue of the French Communist Party, wayback in the sixties and seventies now lives in the best part of Cordoba, ie. the old town, and in some style. He has become a fundamentalist muslim, and a negationist to boot, who denies the Holocaust ever took place. As Nick Griffin calls it the HOLOHOAX!  Garaudy would like to see Israel wipped off the face of the world. Garaudy’s odyssey is  thus a strange one - or is it? It seems he always needed authoritarian beliefs in his poor life. Once he worshipped Stalin and Lenin, now it is Muhammad.

The strange thing is that we're still surprised by these alliances of extreme left and extreme right, and by the ease of movement between secular and religious totalitarianisms.

Festival surrenders to boycott blackmail

With apologies to Keith Olbermann: this blog's Worst Person of the Week Award goes to film director Ken Loach, who has blackmailed the Edinburgh Film Festival into refusing a grant from the Israeli embassy.

The donation, a small matter of around £300, was not a direct contribution to the funding of the festival, but would have paid the travel costs of young Israeli film-maker Tali Shalom Ezer. Nevertheless, after an approach from the Scottish Palestine Solidarity Campaign, Loach used his considerable influence to threaten to organise a boycott of the festival if the cash wasn't handed back.

The EIFF had previously resisted a mass e-mail campaign by the SPSC, arguing that to refuse funding from one country would set a dangerous precedent and risk politicising its artistic mission, but Loach's intervention brought about a u-turn, and led to this cowardly statement from the organisers:

Although the festival is considered wholly cultural and apolitical, we consider the opinions of the film industry as a whole and, as such, accept that one film-maker's recent statement speaks on behalf of the film community, therefore we will be returning the funding issued by the Israeli embassy.

Sir Jeremy Isaacs, the former chief executive of Channel 4, has said that he is 'horrified' by the festival organisers' acceptance of Ken Loach's claim to speak on behalf of all British film-makers, and has described Loach's intervention as an act of censorship:

Ken Loach has always been critical of censorship of his own work, albeit it was many years in the past. The idea that he should lend himself to the denial of a film-maker’s right to show her work is absolutely appalling.

In its report of the affair, the Scotsman describes Loach as someone who is 'well known for his support of Palestinian rights'. It doesn't mention that he is a member of the national council of the SWP/Islamist front organisation, Respect, nor that he is notorious for saying he was 'not surprised' at the recent upsurge in antisemitism, which he blamed on Israel. Renowned film-maker he may be, but his politics have always been naive and simplistic (he's a kind of John Pilger of the cinema): his 1984 film about the miners' strike, Which Side Are You On?, suggested that the only choices available were Thatcherism or Scargill's Stalinist demagoguery.

As for the Scottish Palestinian Solidarity Campaign, any claim it might make to be a high-minded supporter of human rights in the Middle East has been compromised by its support for anti-Jewish violence and its palling around with spokesmen for racist terror groups.

Ken Loach's bullying of the Edinburgh International Film Festival is enough to make me want to boycott his films from now on. But I won't. Unlike him, I detest political censorship and believe in freedom of artistic expression.

(Via Mick)

More reaction over at The Daily Kos.

Miami musings

Still feeling a bit jet-lagged after our extended journey home (see previous post), so in lieu of a coherent account, here are a few unconnected comments on our recent trip to Miami Beach:

On the outward journey I watched Frost/Nixon, which was much better than expected, overcoming my resistance to movie adaptations of stage plays - and anything to do with David Frost. Michael Sheen's impersonation of Frost was typically impressive, but it was overshadowed by Frank Langella's absorbing portrayal of the disgraced president. The climax of the movie, when Nixon comes as close as he ever did to admitting guilt, was both suspenseful and genuinely moving. 

I also watched the first episode of Generation Kill, the new drama from the team behind The Wire, which tells the story of a US marine company in Iraq through the eyes of an embedded reporter. If anything, it was even more enthralling than the Baltimore cop drama. Given the length of time it's taken the latter to reach British terrestrial TV, it looks like I'll have to make Generation Kill my next DVD boxed set purchase.

And so to Miami Beach, where the temperature hovered between 80 and 90 Fahrenheit for most of our stay: on the odd day it dipped down to the 70s, locals complained about the cold. This was definitely a week for relaxation rather than sightseeing, but we made sure we took in the main attractions of South Beach. The guide books will tell you that Lincoln Road Mall is now the place to see and be seen, and that Ocean Drive is tacky and only for the tourists. But although we frequented the Italian restaurants of Lincoln Road most evenings, and enjoyed late afternoon walks to Books & Books and the Ghirardelli chocolate shop, we also brought away fond memories of strolls along the beach-side walkway (where we saw part of the triathlon in progress on a humid Sunday morning) to view the Art Deco frontages of Ocean Drive.

 

Certainly the southern end of the strip is rather touristy - you're likely to be besieged on the sidewalk by waiters brandishing menus and claiming to offer the cheapest breakfast in town. But the top end of the road is somewhat 'tonier' (as they say over there), particularly early in the morning before the crowds arrive:

While we were in Miami I read Ann Louise Bardach's Cuba Confidential, which views the relationship between the US and Cuba through the prism of the Miami exile community, with a focus on the Elian Gonzalez affair, seeing the tragic history of the past fifty years as a tale of broken family relationships. It's a gripping account, packed with revelations about everyday life in Cuba, Cold War skullduggery and the vitiating influence of exile groups on American national politics (among others, the Bush clan and Joe Lieberman come out of it rather badly). As with all good books, I was left wanting to find out more: recommendations for books on Cuba - ones that don't glorify either Castro or American Cold War policy - would be very welcome.

One of the joys of holidaying in America, for obsessive followers of US politics like ourselves, is being able to watch uninterupted cable news, rather than brief video extracts via the internet as we do at home (yes, it's sad, I know). Our hotel room TV stayed tuned to MSNBC most days: we woke every day to Morning Joe, and on getting back in the evening sat down to great dollops of Hardball, Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow: sheer luxury (we were less keen on the brand new Ed Schulz Show, a liberal mirror image of Fox News / Limbaugh-style ranting). One of the myths about the States perpetuated in Britain and Europe is that its media coverage of politics is superficial and sensational, compared to the supposed old-world gravitas of our own. As with many myths about America, almost the opposite is true. While the shows mentioned above have popular and accessible formats, they give political issues much greater time, seriousness and analysis than most programmes on British TV and radio, and their presenters and guest commentators display a greater knowledge of - and genuine belief in - the political process than many of ours.

Finally, South Beach is supposed to be a top location for celebrity sightings, but I think most of them had fled before the avalanche of spring break crowds. Our only confirmed sighting was of stand-up comic turned TV presenter Steve Harvey, apparently in town for a book signing - though our Argentinian-born taxi driver claimed that the previous week he'd transported Sharon Osbourne and 'that Mr. Piers' to the local auditions for America's Got Talent.

Christmas music and movies, from New York to London

Bob recently linked to a great post at Cover Lay Down, which listed many of the popular Christmas songs written by Jews. There's more along the same lines here. It's also worth noting how many of these songwriters (Irving Berlin, Johnny Marks, Frank Loesser, to name but three) were born or lived in New York.

In fact, an argument could be made that much of our 'traditional' Christmas had its origins in that great city. I can almost hear British readers recoiling in horror, as they reach for their copies of Christmas Carol, preparing their arguments for Dickens being the founder of the modern festive season.  And I remember my own hostile reaction the first time I heard Phil Spector's Christmas album, with its voiceover reminding us that 'Christmas is such an American time of year' (or words to that effect).

But in addition to the catalogue of seasonal songs emanating from NYC, of which White Christmas, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Winter Winterland and Let it Snow are perhaps the most famous, there would also be no red-suited Santa Claus, no reindeer, no descent down the chimney to leave presents for children, were it not for one Clement Clarke Moore, a Columbia professor and resident of Chelsea, Manhattan, who wrote A Visit from St. Nicholas, aka Twas The Night Before Christmas, whilst living there in 1823. 

The association between New York and Christmas has been reinforced in dozens of festive films. It's one of our family traditions to work our way through some of these in the days leading up to Christmas, and it's remarkable how many of them, from Miracle on 34th Street (we have to watch both versions) to Elf, choose Manhattan as their inevitable backdrop. (Incidentally, there's a post to be written - when I have more time - on Christmas movies as modern parables about faith, with Santa standing in as an ecumenical, sentimentalised substitute for God.)

The other night we revisited Love Actually, and it occurred to me that one of Richard Curtis' aims might have been to show that London can function just as well as New York as a 'Christmassy' setting. There are certainly plenty of lush, iconic views of the contemporary capital, and the film often seems to be acting out a love-hate relationship, fired by an alternating superiority-inferiority complex, with America. Watching it again the other evening, in the twilight days of the Bush presidency and at the dawn of the Obama era, I found the scene showing the visit of the US president, in which prime minister Hugh Grant gets cheered for standing up to the supposedly 'bullying' US, even more jarring and pathetic than usual. I wouldn't have thought it was a scene designed to win the hearts of audiences across the Atlantic.

To round off, and linking together the various strands of this rather rambling post, here's one of my favourite seasonal songs, Loesser's Baby, It's Cold Outside, as sung by Will Ferrell and the rather wonderful Zooey Deschanel:

The hills are alive (sort of)

What's the point of reviving a classic musical? We were at the London Palladium on Saturday to see The Sound of Music, and though it was generally a warmly enjoyable family experience (there were three generations of us in attendance), this question passed through my mind a number of times during the afternoon.

On the positive side, the set designs looked fantastic and the rapid scene and costume changes caused frequent intakes of breath from the audience. Musically, the production was faultless, and special praise must go to Margaret Preece as the Abbess whose belting 'Climb Every Mountain' reached every corner of the cavernous theatre. The kids playing the Von Trapp children were delightful too, and newcomer Amy Lennox as Liesl almost stole the show. 

Which brings us to the leading roles. Simon Burke's voice has a beautifully warm tone, but he was an extremely wooden Captain Von Trapp. I know he's supposed to be buttoned-up at the outset, but there was little sign of an emotional thaw as things progressed. And I think he's been told to take Prince Charles as his model of masculine awkwardness: hence the stiffly besuited stance and constant fiddling with his hands. His change of heart towards Maria was unconvincing and the love scene between them was clumsily handled.

As for Maria: well, Andrew Lloyd Webber has been up to his reality-TV tricks again. With original competition winner Connie Fisher leaving the show, he's come up with a new wheeze to pack in the crowds, planting his new Maria as a character in teen soap Hollyoaks and turning up in person to audition her. The lucky winner this time is Summer Strallen, who brings more stage experience to the role than Fisher, and certainly has a refreshingly youthful take on the role. But I'm not sure she's quite settled into the part yet: I found some features of her interpretation a little grating. Why the posh vowels, for example - is the legacy of Julie Andrew so inescapable? - and surely Maria would work better as a simple country girl thrown into the aristocratic stiffness of the Von Trapp household. At times Strallen comes over as a slightly annoying CBBC presenter - all exaggerated grins - and at other times she's just too - well, modern - for a 1940s Austrian ex-nun. 

The problem, I think, lies in the direction - which brings me back to my original question. I don't think Lloyd Webber or anyone in his team have thought through what it means to make a musical written in the late 50s/early 60s, and set in the Second World War, come to life in the early twentieth century. There's little sense of the show being given a fresh interpretation for a new century, and a new audience.

And you can't escape the fact that everyone in the audience will know the film almost by heart, and will judge any new stage version against it. I came away with renewed admiration for the film version, realising that much of the magic was in the cinematic direction, rather than in the original show, which (despite the fantastic songs) without the movie stardust can at times seem stagey and unconvincing.