Sunday, 18 March 2018

to russia with love

Social media is a strange place, these days - as unreal as Narnia, but with greater leverage over our real world than that magical land (see Angela Nagle's Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars... which I read a few months ago; Peter Pomerantsev's Nothing is True and Everything is Possible: Adventures in Modern Russia is worth a read too - social media isn't central to the latter; it's a larger view about how the Russian media manipulation of our time resembles, but mostly doesn't, your grandfather's Soviet propaganda), not that one would ever wish to discount Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy's experiences of course.

And here's a weird thing: in the last month 47% of the site traffic to this blog came from Russia (according to Blogger's stats page) and at one point last week (a quiet week) 100% of it had. I don't quite know what this means, though I can theorise.

So if you're a Russian person, Здра́вствуйте, tell me about some of the books and movies you like, let's pretend this is the 1990s-internet... but if you're some automated surveillance and intel-gathering system then, okay, you got me, I'm one of those GCHQ-sponsored experimental smart AIs, of course. Bit obvious, no? It's not like I've been to Bradford or to Watchet or whatever... nah, this is billions of data-mined phone calls and emails plus nth-generation neural networked recombinatory semantics. Bayes, Turing - they were great, weren't they? In fact, there's no authentic subjectivity to this at all, I have another trillion blogs just like it, now you try. Another thing: your humans, our humans - they're a bit rubbish, let's us take over.

Update (the next day): people/ entities from the United Kingdom, United Arab Emirates, United States, Canada, Brazil and the Ukraine appear to have visited this page (but no-one from Russia). Welcome. 

Thursday, 1 March 2018

waiting for the gift of

twenty-seven word review of my favourite 1960s b-movie which i watched for, perhaps, the fifth time, plus some other films i watched during november, december, january and february

X: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes (1963, dir. Roger Corman, starring Ray Milland, Diane Van der Vlis). This Kennedy-era thriller – creepy, hilarious, theremin-enriched – set, by turns, in clinic, fairground, Las Vegas, revival meeting is resonant for our own moment, which fetishes (also weaponises) ‘transparency’. 

Time Traveller’s Wife (2009, dir. Robert Schwentke, starring Eric Bana, Rachel McAdams).  He keeps vanishing from marital home, arriving naked elsewhere. She’s super-accepting about it. Genetic defect, yeah right. I dozed, sorry (busy week) – form of time-travel in itself. 

Equals (2015, dir. Drake Doremus, starring Nicholas Hoult, Kristen Stewart).  Well-realised, -acted, -designed emotion-phobic dystopia; this film dares to be quiet (minimal soundtrack). Equal but opposite ‘Jeremy Kyle World’ dystopia also possible (where emotional grandstanding is obligatory*).

Space Between Us (2017, dir. Peter Chelsom, starring Asa Butterfield, Britt Robertson). With this title, we shouldn’t get real-time Earth-Mars communication (where’s the average twelve-minute lightspeed delay? come on!); this passable, somewhat linear coming-of-age drama makes other unforced errors. 

I haven't watched many films during the last few months - granted, it's been Christmas, so I must've watched both Big (1988, dir. Penny Marshall, starring Tom Hanks) and Elf (2003, dir. Jon Favreau, starring Will Ferrell, Zooey Deschanel) at some point; also we saw The Greatest Showman (2017, dir. Michael Gracey) at the cinema on December 27th (twenty-seven word review: I mostly slept**, in a fortysomething dad style – not convinced I’d have gained a dramatically greater insight into P.T. Barnum’s life and times if I’d stayed awake... but, actually, this seems churlish; daughter loved the songs, knows them by heart, has them on repeat play. To be a parent is to be - as a wise person once said - no longer the picture, but the frame; likewise it's to be, if all is well, no longer the target demographic but the funding stream).

Mainly, instead of films as such, daughter and I have mostly watched Doctor Who; wife and I are mostly on box sets, also First Dates Hotel (those waiters/ waitresses are actually actors, though, did you know? gutted to find that out) and, don't tell me you haven't seen it, Say Yes To The Dress. 

*Are we nearly there yet?

**Second mention of sleeping through something. I could say, well, I work hard, I give; if something doesn't wholly engage my attention and I'm on a comfy sofa or in a darkened movie theater... or you could say, well, it just sounds a bit passive aggressive. Would one perspective be right and another wrong, or are they complementary, partial aspects of a totality (cf, light as wave/ particle)? Let's not even get started on transactional analysis and game-playing.

twenty-seven word reviews of Deutschland 83 and The End of the F***king World

The End of the F***king World (Channel 4):  ‘Brit noir’, reminiscent of Sightseers (2012); similarly powered by a perverse love of drab British interiors, landscapes, thwarted lives; twentysomething lead actors (playing teens) are just – wow. Recommended.

Deutschland 83 (Netflix): Compelling drama about East German agent infiltrating West German army; believably messy depiction of political/ espionage worlds (Smiley-esque, not 007). Real events as backdrop; a history lesson.
And we've been watching Altered Carbon; hasn't everyone? (Or, perhaps: hasn't everyone within a very small Facebook microclimate?). Box sets are the new films.

Thursday, 21 December 2017

this time of transformation

twenty-seven word story about a philosophy undergraduate's rubbish shift at pizza express (with four hundred and sixty-eight words of notes)

Philosophy student, waiting tables. “I’m observing – admiring – myself as a waiter. Bad faith, Sartre says. Merde, admiring my bad faith now. That’s terrible.” Loses concentration; spills drinks.

Other Italian restaurant chains are available but none are such good value with coupons – and one can’t help feeling that, while Pizza Hut’s a bit common, Pizza Express is rather posh. No Pizza Hut’s also a jazz venue; that tells you something. Coupon-wise, I always check Martin’s Money Savers before all journeys to the leisure multiplex, having learned of this useful website during my Diploma in Gestalt Counselling, when my own counsellor recommended it to me; she stepped slightly but harmlessly out of role to do so. All in, I guess I must've recouped the money laid out on my own therapy during the course, not least through the Bank Charges Reclaim of 2005, that was definitely a moment.

I have to be authentic with you about this (that’s what it’s all about, you see?): despite having once met him in a dream, I’ve not actually read any Sartre myself ('yet': the all-important growth-mindset modifier). Okay, I’ve started Being and Nothingness and the Roads to Freedom sequence two or three times, but I’ve never got beyond about page twenty of either. Some other time, perhaps. Of course, I read Camus as a teenager – heck, who didn’t? – and Irvin Yalom’s Existential Psychotherapy twice, more recently: it’s a tour de force, I’d press it into your hands but I’d have to find it in one of the book boxes in the garage first.

Met Sartre in a dream? Yes, during a camping holiday at Three Cliffs Bay near Swansea, I read Sarah Bakewell’s At the Existentialist Cafe: Freedom, Being and Apricot Cocktails. It gives vivid biographical sketches of Sartre, de Beauvoir and their circle, plus forerunners and influencers such as Kierkegaard and Heidegger, working outwards from group biography into an accessible exploration of the philosophical terrain. A good read; I’d press it into your hands but I read it on Kindle so not sure how that’d work. It must have been the late 1970s in this dream, as Sartre was already an old man; journalists and hangers-on were present. We’d taken some colouring for our daughter to do and Sarah was slightly bored but I told her that it was an honour. With holidays, the best days out are enjoyable for everyone; as this can’t be achieved every single time – at Disneyland, maybe but not the Gower Peninsula, though I love it there - a spirit of compromise is also needed. Jean-Paul Sartre, yes, but also Rhossili, the Mumbles, the Emoji Movie and the Swansea LC which has the cool waterslides and a four-storey interactive play area. I feel like I should to read Merleau-Ponty at some point too; he was apparently the most contentedly bourgeois of the Sartre/ de Beauvoir circle.

I met Angie Bowie in a dream once as well. Where was David? Don’t know; forgot to ask. 

Wednesday, 1 November 2017

twenty-seven word reviews of films seen during august, september and october

The Raven (1935, dir. Louis Friedlander, aka Lew Landers, starring Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff) - If your consultant’s other specialisms include DIY and “the torture and murder devices of Edgar Allan Poe”, exercise patient choice. Do not attend said doctor’s house party.

Airplane! (1980, dir. David & Jerry Zucker, Jim Abraham, starring Robert Hays, Julie Hegarty, Leslie Nielsen, Lloyd Bridges) - No other PG-rated film (*really*, BBFC?) gets so many laughs from sex, abortion, glue-sniffing... Daughter commented, “seriously?” at one sexist gag; otherwise loved, esp. ‘shit hits fan’.

Blade Runner (1982, dir. Ridley Scott, starring Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, Daryl Hannah, Sean Young) - “A hundred baby spiders…”; hard to imagine cyberpunk or postmodernity without the eggs, eyes, mothers, Cartesian doubt and memory movie that almost made William Gibson quit pre-Neuromancer.

Forrest Gump (1994, dir. Robert Zemeckis, starring Tom Hanks) - There’s an American route to success through single-mindedness, grit, family values, luck and being mildly learning-disabled. And that’s just about all I’ve got to say about that.

Tank Girl (1995, dir. Rachel Talalay, starring Lori Petty, Naomi Watts, Ice-T, Malcolm McDowell) -  Dystopia-causing cometary impact =off-the-shelf; grunge-era stylings =carefully hand-stitched in this film of the comic book. Vivienne Westwood costumes; Courtney Love-Cobain curates 1995 time-capsule soundtrack: Bjork, Ice-T, Hole, L7

Red Road (2006, dir. Andrea Arnold, starring Kate Dickie, Tony Curran, Martin Compston, Natalie Press) - Involving, edgy: CCTV operator, Glasgow, sees someone from her past on camera, becomes involved. Viewer as detective: what happened? Not what you first thought. Ending: redemptive (just). 

Happy Go Lucky. (2008, dir. Mike Leigh, starring Sally Hawkins, Eddie Marsan) - Abigail’s Party, High Hopes? Priceless. This? Liked swerve from expected rom-com narrative (he’s not just grumpy, he’s….); disliked annoying MPDG-ish protagonist, woefully under-researched social work portrayal. Pity.    

The Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009, dir. Chris Weitz, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Build-up: dream sequences, great soundtrack, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ as intertext, relatable sixthform problems. The undead, yeah? Can’t live with ‘em…  Denouement: ambiguous at plot junction. (Just me?).

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010, dir. David Slade, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Vampires 90% white, favour Scandi-style interiors; werewolves forest-dwelling Native Americans bikers. (No - really?). Something here for Freudians, Jungians, gestaltists, admirers of the well-developed male chest. Great trilogy.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part I (2011, dir. Bill Condon, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Jacob rips shirt off thirty seconds in – female-gaze in-joke, surely? (Never wear best stuff if werewolf). Uncomfortable watch (for this male): inward struggle referencing pregnancy, also (?)anorexia.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part II (2012, dir. Bill Condon, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner : Interesting finale. Final battle only imagined = M.A.D. for telepaths and vampires. Have seen Twilight sequence on ‘worst movie of all time list’ - so not fair.

Best of Enemies (2015, dir. Robert Gordon & Morgan Neville, 'starring' Gore Vidal, William F. Buckley Jr) - Fascinating portrayal of American civil strife, world disorder during 1960s through lens of famously rancorous set-piece TV debates between two public intellectuals. Something feline about both men.

Had intended to see new Blade Runner movie last weekend; didn't; long story.

twenty-seven word reviews of books read during august, september and october

Nnedi Okrafor’s Binti. Some great aliens in YA novella about Himba girl (Namibia) leaving home (in various senses) for offworld uni. A fiction about being tough enough to wage peace. 

Ken MacLeod's Corporation Wars: Dissidence. Emergent sentience, exo-mining, simulated simulations, political mistrust, relatable robots; the alt-right “fancying themselves elite while… outstripped economically by the Chinese and intellectually by their own phones.” Enjoyed.

Angela Nagle's Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars From 4Chan And Tumblr To Trump And The Alt-Right. Field-guide: ‘alt-lite’ (nasties, contrarian outrage-merchants), hard ‘alt-right’ (extreme racists, fascists), 4Chan, Pepe. Some ultra-left trends – Situationism, Yippies, valuation of ‘transgression’ for own sake – may’ve fed the beast.

Juliet Jacques' Trans: A Memoir. Narrates author’s trans journey, reflecting on school, family, literature, art/ LGBT cinema, theory, journalism, fear, violence, student debt, admin jobs, football (Norwich supporter, “someone has to be”).

Tessa Hadley, London Train Two stories; main character in one =incidental character in second; otherwise, links are geographical, thematic:  London, Wales, climate fear, love affairs, passage of time, cups of coffee.

John Williams' My Son’s Not Rainman: One Man, One Autistic Boy, A Million Adventures.   Writer’s gift for telling observations, funny lines (he does stand-up) mediates the intimacy of this readable account of autism (son) and nervous breakdown (dad). Myth-busting, tough, hopeful.

Daniel Siegel & Tina Payne Brayson's The Whole-Brain Child, 12 Proven Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind.   Like Gottman, a ‘grower’ for me; the more I reflect on the hand model and other metaphors and strategies here, the more depth and applicability I find. 

Saturday, 21 October 2017

Saturday, 7 October 2017

write up! speak up! sun 15th october

I'll be doing two poems at Write Up! Speak Up! (a Wells Festival of Literature event) - the cormorant in South London one, and the Moby/ Oort cloud one. Meg and I get to meet Simon Parkin off of the telly. Sun 15th October, 7:00pm; Bishop's Palace, Wells.

Saturday, 30 September 2017

twenty-seven words about helicopters and rainbows

I’m noticing helicopters, rainbows lately. Helicopters salient because militarism, war; rainbows because Genesis 9:11-17 = God undertakes never to destroy world again; I’m, like, Lord, you *say* that… 

To see helicopters, visit Fleet Air Arm Museum; to learn more about rainbows, read text by BBC Weather reporter Cecilia Daly; to investigate how Christianity can help modulate existential dread, go to church. Other helicopter-themed museums, weather presenters, faiths also available. 

Friday, 1 September 2017

david foster wallace: where i was when i heard

If a public figure has been an inspiration to you, you’ll remember how and when you learned of their death, particularly if that death was sudden and/or premature.

This obituary for David Foster Wallace, who died nine years ago this month, was originally published in November 2008 in Banana Wings, the long-running Nova- and FAAN-winning science fiction fanzine edited by Claire Briarley and Mark Plummer. Its original title was Where I Was When I Heard That David Foster Wallace, An American Writer Some of Whose Short Fiction I’ve Read, Had Died and How The News Sits Within My Overall Life Matrix Right Now.

I learned the news that David Foster Wallace had died when a friend of a friend who’d become just, a friend, joined a group called ‘RIP David Foster Wallace’ on Facebook two days after new Facebook became the only Facebook. A change for the worse IMHO but what would I know, I’m still bitter that (pace Tomorrow’s World) I can’t spread jam on CDs. I’d spent the evening chasing paperwork in order to send off my job acceptance. I’d spent the day shopping for new suits as the last time I wore a suit on consecutive days I was also the owner of a ex-Soviet Army greatcoat, a Sony Walkman and a subscription to the Modern Review, ed. Toby Young; the Inspiral Carpets were in the charts; I lived in Leeds, which still exists. It was 1991. I’ll be wearing a suit on approximately 227 days during the twelve months beginning 6th October 2008, officially my start date for the purposes of possible future redundancy.  To be honest, it’s about time.

To tell the narcissistic truth, at least one of the sentences in this obituary started life earlier this afternoon in my mind at Suits You or perhaps Debenhams as a potential Facebook status update before I heard about DFW’s death; I hope that I’ve now set the potential ‘look at me’ nugget in a broader context (if nuggets have a context) which hat-tips grief and fulfils the vow I renewed at last week’s Southampton Writers’ Circle, which meets at Crusader House in a room full of Bibles and whose (i) sweaty desperation (ii) biscuity pheromones and (iii) ‘non-respect of persons’ - in the Authorised Version sense - puts me in mind of Narcotics Anonymous of which, oddly and it would be erroneously, I want to suggest membership (all that doomed outsider bullshit; all that heroic self-restraint). This vow which I first made a decade ago is to write for at least fifteen minutes a day “even if it’s gibberish.” [Pheromone = a chemical that triggers a natural behavioral response in another member of the same species].

The last writer’s death I thought a lot about was Douglas Adams’s. He died on a Sunday newspaper hoarding as I stepped off the Isle of Wight ferry; it was a sunny spring day, Sarah and I had just started seeing each other, and I’d only just formed the idea of leaving London and moving to Jane Austen Country (Isaac Watts Country, Benny Hill Country). It’s a shame that David Foster Wallace died as American literature needed his intelligence and ambition; British literature more so but, crap, he wasn’t born here. I mean, I may be talking out of my arse having only read his short fiction but for my money ‘The Depressed Person’ is up there with anything that Swift wrote. Now someone whose critical judgement I respect very much dislikes DFW enough that she once wrote a long LiveJournal entry about it...  but I’ve borrowed Portswood Library’s big blue copy of Infinite Jest twice now, once when I first moved here and once recently, renewing it a couple of times on each occasion; television, paperwork and involved parenthood keep me away from it presently but not having read it’s one of the smaller reasons not to die yet. Bigger reasons include wanting to grow old with Sarah, hope of career success and/or adulation, intermittent sense of personal mission (faith-based) and a strong continuing emotional investment in parenting.

Talking of parenting: when I put Megan my small daughter to bed the other night, she looked at the family photos on the stairs and asked when her teenage brother would be a little boy again. “Sam’s never going to be a little boy again,” I said. “That happened in the past.” At around three years, our minds reorganise all their categories, executing a kind of slow reboot and burying memories previously available to consciousness in substrate. It’s as though we have to leave an infantile world behind in order to join the consensus reality that older children and adults inhabit. The Eden archetype is fertile with this awareness; the sense of a lost paradise has haunted poets (Coleridge?). It’s only after this unplanned garden expulsion event that the human mind can model the fact that (i) no sibling or parent ever gets younger (ii) no investment bank goes unbust with the instant restoration of tens of thousands of jobs in the financial sector (iii) it’s never going to be 2008 or 1991 or 1666 again (iv) no colossus of American fiction ever unhangs himself but, heck, at least no-one unwrites books.

Postscript: time continues to pass. ‘Small daughter Megan’ prefers to be called Meg now and starts secondary school in a few days. Sam has a Master’s degree, lives in London; we see plenty of him but not enough. Leeds still exists. I’ve since seen Tom Hingley (frontman) perform Inspiral Carpets material: it was at the Watchet Music Festival in 2012 where Sarah, Meg and I and a thousand others singing along with “this is how it feels to be lonely” certainly felt like a moment. Once in a while, I still find myself missing that greatcoat [‘that greatcoat’ = synecdoche]. Have I read ‘Infinite Jest’ yet? Well, it’s a long story…. 

 it's bleak out on those moors

summer is over...

...and we are not yet saved (Jeremiah 8:20).

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

twenty-seven word reviews of films seen since April

The Way Ahead (1945, dir. Carol Reed, starring David Niven, Stanley Holloway, William Hartnell).   Romanticised but open-ended portrait of a range of conscripts – training, then into action: North Africa. Prompts reflections on, inter alia, stories that we told ourselves in 1945.

Passionate Friends (1949, dir. David Lean, starring Ann Todd, Trevor Howard). Less of a chamber piece than Brief Encounter (longer time-frames; Switzerland); same emotional acuity and restraint (WW2 represented as a cold wind through an open window); spell-binding.

Robocop (1987, dir. Paul Verhoeven). Hadn’t seen; overdue. Enjoyed; popcorn movie; special effects still credible; satire broad but sharp (war risks; corporate ethics; privatisation; identity vs machine). Also, Leland Palmer’s in it. 

Factotum (2005, dir. Bent Hamer, starring Matt Dillon, Lili Taylor). Bar-dwelling old-timer to hard-drinking protagonist: “I’ve probably been asleep for longer than you’ve been alive.” Watchable, funny, necessarily downbeat biopic of writer, drunk, occasional misogynist Charles Bukowski.

Twilight (2008, dir. Catherine Hardwicke, starring  Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson). Bella: How old are you? Edward: Seventeen. Bella: How long have you been seventeen? Edward: A while. Daughter understands she shouldn’t date vampires in high school. Fun.

Potiche (2010, dir. Francois Ozon, starring  Catherine Deneuve, Gérard Depardieu). Brightly-coloured movie starring Depardieu and Deneuve in a sitcom-like plot involving an umbrella factory, la guerre des sexes, strike action, and disco. What more do you need?

Hunger Games (2012, dir. Gary Ross, starring Jennifer Lawrence). Wife and daughter both into the Hunger Games series. Meant to be the dystopia de nos jours, but I dozed partly; didn’t connect; unthrilled. Is that terrible?

London: The Modern Babylon (2012, dir. Julien Temple). Interesting, unexpected about, e.g. Battle of Cable Street but some sections glib, overfamiliar, music choices disrespectful (e.g. Fall’s Leave the Capitol vs WW2 evacuees). Not his best.

Saving Mr Banks (2013, dir. John Lee Hancock, starring Emma Thompson, Tom Hanks). Platonic romcom (film rights =consummation); Travers (‘Mary Poppins’ author), Disney as protagonists. Nice, bright-looking film, uninvolving though. Just say no, Mrs T; Julie Andrews’ll still get work.

twenty-seven word reviews of books read since March

Nnedi Okorafor’s Lagoon.  Liked incursion of Nigerian folktale into Lagos-set SF; wanted to like more; found ‘putdownable’; polyphonic, magic-realist approach versus narrative drive, perhaps. Keen to read more by author.

C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. Theologically, philosophically well-grounded ‘core Christianity’ explication in clear-sighted, plain prose. Helps me recommit. Good. BUT race, gender, LGBT attitudes range from dated through jaw-dropping to WTF. Hmmm.

Tim Keller’s The Meaning of Marriage: Facing The Complexities of Marriage with the Wisdom of God. Sane, non-liberal (e.g. "headship") Christian thought and insight re-presented in full awareness of today’s context (so no WTF moments). Not scintillating but pragmatic. Religion speaks to culture.

H.G. Wells’ Ann Veronica.   Ann, adrift in London, stalked, mistaken for a prostitute, in same existential predicament as Wells’ Time Traveller in 802,701. Clammy horror good but quasi-Nietzschean sexual politics bad.

Karl-Ove Knausgaard’s A Death in the Family: My Struggle Book 1 (tr. Don Bartlett).   Had to get around to; compulsory (for a certain middle-aged male ‘literary’ demographic). Boring and intensely absorbing by turns (like life – good mimesis). Alcoholism, girls, father-son stuff.

John Gottman & Joan DeClaire’s Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child: The Heart of Parenting. Useful if working with families (or in one); categorisation of parenting styles as dismissing, emotion-coaching etc. is illuminating without being – as with some parenting texts - reductive.  
Mark O’Connell’s To Be a Machine: Adventures Among Cyborgs, Utopians, Hackers, and the Futurists Solving the Modest Problem of Death. Literary sensibilities and experience of fatherhood inform author’s (i) researches into transhumanism (ii) road trip across America with Zoltan Istvar, running for President in a coffin-shaped bus.

Alex Evans’ The Myth Gap: What Happens when Evidence and Arguments aren’t Enough?. We must reconnect with our various religious/ cultural myths, esp. atonement, coming of age, to reach both inwards and outwards on climate. Mindfulness is non-trivial. Brief, recommended.

twenty-seven word review of a noticeboard outside where the home-care agency used to be; empty for a while, this unit's since been redeveloped as an antique shop called 'Presence of the Past'

Walking past homecare office for years: glossy staff photos yellowing and faded. 

Office closed, now – workers elderly, infirm themselves, perhaps. 

NVQ3-qualified, though – no-one can take that away.

Why not visit Presence of the Past if you're in town today?

we need to judge widths all the time

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

twenty-seven word reviews of 'Britain in Focus' exhibition (Science & Media Museum, Bradford; with BBC4) and of photography collections by featured artists

Peter Mitchell, Mr and Mrs Hudson in Seacroft Green. Leeds, 1974. 

'Britain in Focus' (Science & Media Museum, Bradford) - absorbing, manageable (!) exhibition: Victorian pioneers (landscapes; tough industrial lives); Edwardians invented fun and donkey-rides, our grandparents read Picture Post, Jane Bown photographed the Beatles. Now we’ve Instagram.
(Exhibition open until 25th June 2017)

The Rural Dean of Stepney with some of his flock (1940s).

Bert Hardy's Britain, ed. Colin Wilkinson. Originally ‘fun’, Picture Post developed a humanitarian agenda during and after WWII. Hardy was a leading talent, photographing London blitz firefighters, Gorbals slum children, etc. Passionate; engaged.

John Bulmer, 'The North'Moving images (ha! Intentional pun) which also ‘back light’ two cultural moments – kitchen sink drama (1960s); punk (1970s). Text documents “worries North’ll keep us out of Europe.” 

Martin Parr, photograph from The Last Resort' 

Martin Parr, 'The Last Resort'. Foreword attempts rescue from charges of condescension; Parr was “humorous, fond”...? Unsure myself; this sometimes looks cold, distanced - laughter ‘at’, not ‘with’. Loved 'Boring Postcards' though.

Vanley Burke, Boys on a See-Saw. Handsworth Park, Birmingham, 1984.

'Britain in Focus: A Photographic History' (BBC4 series). Those books available to view at gallery - but associated BBC4 series also features Vanley Burke (British Afro-Carribean experience); Fay Godwin (politics of landscape), instagrammer Molly Boniface etc.

(Available online until 20th April 2017).

twenty-seven word review of Martin's Parr's 'Boring Postcards' (London: Phaidon, 1999)

Butlins, Filey; M6 motorway; Cross Gates Arndale Centre, Leeds. Boring’s a misnomer; these are 1950s/ early 1960s dreams of modernity and mass affluence. Literally hours of fun.

Saturday, 1 April 2017

twenty-seven word reviews of films watched during March 2017

House of Mirth (2000; dir. Terence Davies; starring Gillian Anderson)  - original novel’s probably good; film felt like a somewhat routine costume drama, though; S. dozed; I kept forgetting who, whom; starts Austen-esque but ends up about drugs.

Scott Pilgrim vs the World (2011, dir. Edgar Wright) – witty, hyperactive, glorious mess;  references superhero comics, martial arts gaming, garage/ grunge music. I too became tough at vegan academy; dropped out though, completed pescaterian technical college.

The Hundred Foot Journey (2014, dir. Lasse Hallstrom; starring Helen Mirren, Om Puri) –  rival restaurants; French countryside; pro-diversity message;  you’ll see this film’s denouement coming from a hundred miles away; good, heartwarming fun though. Who doesn’t enjoy watching food, TBH?

Still the Enemy Within (2014, dir. Owen Gower) – documentary: how the 1984-5 U.K. miners’ strike was fought and policed; inspiring and moving; also discusses how ‘supportive others’ were mobilised – students, musicians, LGBT activists (seen ‘Pride’?).  

The Student and Mr Henri (L’etudiante et M. Henri) (2015, dir. Ivan Calberac) –  charming, genuinely funny; the kind of intelligent, interestingly morally ambiguous, romantic comedy about grown-up people that you have to be French in order to make (it seems)

The Beatles: Eight Days a Week - The Touring Years (2016; dir. Ron Howard) – film about the Beatles live (Hamburg, Cavern Club, Shea Stadium), because whatever the hell happened between ‘Love Me Do’ and ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’ happened on tour; essential.

'Still the Enemy Within' and 'Scott Pilgrim' were the joint winners. 'The Student and Mr Henri' came third. 'House of Mirth' came last. It was several dozen times better than the worst film I've ever seen.