The pleasure of slow reading

I’m a fast reader. I’ve always been a fast reader, ever since I learned to read, and went racing ahead of the rest of the class through the Village With Three Corners series. But lately I’ve been starting to think that maybe I read too fast.

I remember reading in bed when I was a kid. My mum would tell me I could read to the end of the next chapter, or whatever, and then I had to put out the light. But sometimes I would be so into the book that I would skim-read ahead of that, just to find out what was going to happen. Skim-reading is, of course, a very useful skill if you have a lot of academic reading to get through, but it’s not the best way to appreciate the finer points of a good novel. Sometimes I find that it’s easy to concentrate on the dialogue and the action and not to read the description too carefully, but I know that I miss out when I do that.

I realised to what extent this was the case recently, when talking to people who read much more slowly than me. Until then, if anything, I’d assumed I had the advantage over them. After all, I could get through so many more books than they could. And that, in turn, meant I was much more open to discovering new things – it’s easier to take a risk on a book you’re not sure about when you don’t feel it’s too big a time commitment to get through it.

However, a couple of people have mentioned to me that when they read, they hear all the voices in their heads, as though it were being read aloud to them. This was a revelation to me, as I do no such thing.

Language is an interesting thing – the letters and words represent sounds, which in turn represent objects or concepts in the real world. But when we read, our brains don’t have to do that whole process – we can look at a word we recognise and our brains can leap straight to the meaning without having to sound it out. Which is great, of course, or we’d all be struggling through everything with our lips moving. But I’m starting to think that if our brains rush through the process too fast we will miss out. Reading literature is not just about getting the meaning, but about the way that the language itself is crafted. For example, for me, I can appreciate poetry – which is all about the use of language and hardly about story at all – much better if it is read aloud than if I read it to myself.

I’ve started trying to consciously slow my reading pace down, but it’s not always easy – I suppose old habits are hard to break. However, I’m currently reading The Border Trilogy by Cormac McCarthy, and those books are working wonders at turning me into a slow reader. McCarthy never rushes the pace – he describes long horseback journeys in such detail, and so fully and believably realises the passing landscapes, that they almost seem to be happening in real time. You get a real sense of the time and distance that everything takes. Long passages can pass without action and dialogue, and McCarthy can move seamlessly from description of setting, to the characters’ external thoughts, or to the sorts of philosophical musings that few modern writers could attempt without sounding trite.

Just one example of an extract where the writing stopped me in my tracks and made me read it again, just to appreciate it fully:

“Shrouded in the black thunderheads the distant lightening glowed mutely like welding seen through foundry smoke. As if repairs were under way at some flawed place in the iron dark of the world.” (All the Pretty Horses)

Who wouldn’t want to read that slowly?

Guest post at Jo and The Novelist

This week, I am the guest poster over at Jo and the Novelist, a great blog all about the joys of writing (and procrastination). In honour of NatNoWriMo, Jo has a selection of guests posting on various topics relating to writing, and I'm on there today discussing journalism.

Why Stephen King is wrong about vampires

So Stephen King has announced that he is going to make vampires scary again, complaining that the genre has been ‘hijacked by a lot of soft focus romance’. Now, I think he has a very interesting point. Vampires used to be pure evil, bloodthirsty monsters. These days we have the likes of Buffy, True Blood and the Twilight series – we see vampires struggling with their consciences, falling in love with humans, trying to resist the urge to drink blood. King certainly seems to have put his finger on a trend here. But the vampire myth has existed in many different forms in many different parts of the world, the ‘facts’ associated with the lore have been constantly evolving as long as it has existed. So is this latest iteration really robbing the myth of its power?

First of all, although the trend for depicting human-vampire romances may be a recent one, I believe that it does have a solid grounding in the history of the genre. After all, sex has been a big part of the vampire myth for a long time now. Check out the great book of the genre Dracula or the lesser-known Carmilla for plenty of barely-repressed sexual imagery. Dracula can tell us lots about how the Victorians viewed female sexuality as something dangerous and perverse. It seems both logical and inevitable that this sexual subtext should, in our more permissive times, be expressed more explicitly in sexual and romantic relationships between humans and vampires.

Much as I am not a fan of Twilight and its icky abstinence message, it could still be argued that Stephanie Meyer’s use of feeding as a metaphor for premarital sex is at least in keeping with the myth. (Even if the same cannot be said for the whole ‘sparkling in the sunlight’ thing!)

When Buffy, in later seasons of the programme, found herself drawn into a complex love-hate relationship with bad boy vampire Spike, the storyline was rich with symbolism regarding her own darker impulses – the side of herself that her work as the Slayer had brought her into contact with, leading her to feel isolated from the normal world and from her friends. Spike’s character arc, and their relationship, was one of my favourite things about the programme, precisely because it was far from straightforward. Spike wasn’t noble like Angel, but nor was he a mindless killing machine that needed to be staked on sight like most of the other vamps in the series. He was a bad guy all right (to start out with, anyway), but he was also funny, cool and capable of emotion, and it was that tension that made his character so compelling.

Similarly, if we look at Eli in Let the Right One In, we see a character who is far from the restrained nature of an Angel or an Edward Cullen. She kills people and she drinks their blood – neither the book nor the film shy away from the true horror of that. However, she genuinely cares for Oskar, and there is a strong sense of how bleak and isolated her life is. To me, a work that can make you feel pity for someone who has committed such terrible crimes is far more compelling than one about a mindless killing machine.

Again, this twist on the myth is not entirely new. For example, if we look at the novel Dracula, although the vampires are as much bloodthirsty monsters as King could wish for, there is also a transitional stage – the process of becoming a vampire is not instant but takes place over a period of days or even weeks. We see this with Lucy, who walks around in a strange, dazed, liminal state for some time before dying and returning as a vampire, and we see it again with Mina – the attempt to reverse the process and save her life forms the climax of the novel. The representation of someone caught between their humanity and their more bestial urges was particularly potent in the late Victorian period, as society reeled from the implications of Darwinism, and it remains a powerful image today.

In True Blood, we see vampirism pressed into service as a metaphor for all kinds of ‘otherness’: vampires have ‘come out of the coffin’, graffiti is seen saying ‘god hates fangs’, meanwhile new vampire Jessica’s experiences of the changes she is undergoing are compared to puberty, and the Fellowship of the Sun church preach hate towards vampires and secretly plan to tie one to a cross to burn in the morning sun.  However, what I find most interesting about True Blood is the complete lack of unity in the vampire world. Some of them toe the line and drink synthetic blood, others see humans as mere prey, and still others are on the defensive, trying to protect their own kind. Similarly, the humans have wildly varying levels of tolerance for vampires. Somehow, it all seems oddly believable. If vampires really did exist, surely there would be good ones, evil ones, and many, many more somewhere in between – just like with humans.

So, I’m sure Stephen King’s argument would be – so what’s the point? If vampires are just like humans, why write about them at all?

Well, I certainly don’t think his kind of vampires have no place in the myth. They haven’t died out, and they still have appeal. But I think that vampirism is a potent symbol for all humanity’s darkest urges. And for that reason, I believe, we are fascinated by these representations of creatures that are struggling with these urges, caught between their baser instincts and their better nature.

TV Review: This is England '86

One of the things that made the film This is England seem so sad was that – at the risk of sounding like someone’s mother – they were such a nice group of kids until that racist one came along. Before I saw it, all I knew was that it was about a boy falling in with a gang of skinheads. So I sort of assumed they’d all be a bad influence on him. Instead, Woody, Lol and the others take Shaun under their collective wing and, despite being older and something of a group of troublemakers, offer him genuine friendship. They are such an appealing, if flawed, set of characters that it’s all the more upsetting when events start to take a darker turn.

With this in mind, I was really happy to hear that director Shane Meadows had made a TV series that reunited the fantastic young cast to further develop the characters. Without (so far) the presence of white supremacist Combo (Stephen Graham) the programme focuses more on the everyday lives of the protagonists three years after the events of the film, and reflects further on the grim realities of a northern town blighted by unemployment and Thatcherism.

In the first episode, Shaun (Thomas Turgoose) had distanced himself from his old friends, feeling guilty about what happened to Milky (Andrew Shim). Last night’s second episode saw him reunited with the gang. It started as with lots of light-hearted action involving drinking and partying, with plenty of laughs, of the kind that make you really warm to the characters. However, just as in the original film, this only made the darker moments hit harder. Lol (Vicky McClure), already struggling with her relationship with Woody (Joe Gilgun), was blindsided by the return of her long-absent father. McClure plays Lol’s emotional turmoil astonishingly well, but it’s the sense of the impact her actions will have on the cast of supporting characters that helps to bring it home to the audience.

Throughout, the camera lingers over a washed out landscape of council flats, bare streets and boarded up houses, backed by a lingering piano soundtrack that contrasts strikingly with the upbeat cotemporary music that accompanies the skinheads’ exploits. It brings home the hopelessness of the characters’ environment – the dearth of opportunities to escape or change. In those bleak shots we see the explanation for everything that happens to the characters.

My 3D dilemma

This is probably not a great confession to make on a film-related blog but I didn’t see Avatar the first time round. Now it’s back, re-released and even longer, and so the dilemma I had the first time round returned to bug me.

The dilemma was this: if you’re going to pay money to see something at the cinema – and pay the extra cost for 3D at that – you want to be at least fairly confident you’re going to enjoy it. If you’re feeling doubtful, you normally have the option of giving it a miss, safe in the knowledge that you can always watch it on DVD later. However, in the case of Avatar, that’s not such a good option. The main selling point of the film was its cutting-edge effects, so if you’re going to watch it, it might as well be on the big screen in all its 3D glory.

Now, there’s two ways at looking at this situation. One: 3D is a great new way to restore the sense of cinema as an experience, to take us back to the good old days when going to the movies felt special, when it was worth doing for its own sake, as opposed to just waiting for the DVD or downloading a dodgy pirate copy. Two: It’s a big con. The hype about 3D is a way of strong-arming you into paying ten or twelve quid to see something that’s really had pretty mediocre reviews in terms of plot, script, etc. The special effects are its one big selling point and, conveniently enough, they’re just not the same if you choose any of the cheaper viewing options.

I’m still torn by this dilemma, but, in the end, having a day off work and some time to kill, I went by myself to an afternoon showing of the re-released version. Having heard some truly terrible things about it from some people, I had set my expectations pretty low, and so I was actually pleasantly surprised – although, let’s be clear, that’s not exactly saying much. It certainly wasn’t painfully bad. It was just pretty standard Hollywood fare, with big battles, a fairly conventional environmental message, and a racially dubious but fairly common ‘noble savage’ trope. The script was pedestrian, but not as clunky as, say, the new Star Wars films.

My main gripe was the length – I have a very low tolerance for overlong films, even if they’re good. It just seems to show a cavalier disregard for the audience’s comfort: ‘Oh, I know other filmmakers have to stick to a reasonable length, but what I have to say is just so important.’ However, on the plus side – if you can call it that – I wasn’t too gripped to pop out for a toilet break when I needed one. There was a handy montage sequence where the hero is learning to become a Na’vi that was ideal for the purpose.

On the visual side, it delivered everything it promised, and I was pretty happy just to sit and stare at it for a while. Although there was a lot of action, it was nice to see special effects being used for something other than explosions – the world of Pandora was beautifully realised. Vast trees, floating mountains, glow-in-the-dark plants, and stunning flying sequences on the backs of dragon-like creatures all worked wonderfully well with the 3D to create a really immersive world. If only someone could match that kind of attention to detail with a truly great script and characters.

So, after finally watching this film, I’m not sure I’m any closer to resolving how I feel about the 3D revolution. I suppose it’s really no different to any other advance in special effects – it’s all very well, but you simply cannot neglect the other elements of good filmmaking. Avatar did a great job of making the most of the novelty of the technology, but, in future, I’ll probably be making my viewing selections based on something other than whether or not it’s in 3D. If a great film comes along that also happens to be available in a great 3D version – well, that will just be a bonus.

DVD Review: Where the Wild Things Are

It seems amazing that anyone could make a whole film out of Maurice Sendak’s children’s picture book, but writer Dave Eggers and director Spike Jonze have managed to do just that. This is fundamentally a film about childhood – but not an idealised vision of childhood that is innocent and joyful, more a time of life when you’re helpless at the mercy of events, and when emotions can threaten to overwhelm you. The real-world opening is achingly sad, completely involving you in the world of a lonely and troubled little boy. Once the action moves into the fantasy world, the Wild Things he finds there are as childlike as the young hero himself – they crave reassurance, they feel rejected when their friends find other friends, they are playful but their games can quickly turn to squabbles and end in tears. And the film manages to show that the squabbles are not petty, to the Wild Things they feel completely serious and all-consuming.

In many ways, this is a very simple film. The slight plot barely matters – it is all about the world it creates. The world of the Wild Things is visually creative, the characters flawed but engaging and a stunningly beautiful soundtrack by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs adds a huge amount to the atmosphere, making this film deeply melancholy and hauntingly affecting.

Film Review: Scott Pilgrim vs The World

Yay! I am so relieved that this film lived up to pretty much all my expectations. Edgar Wright has completely understood where the comic books are coming from, has managed to keep in a staggering amount of the plot and supporting characters and has delivered something that should be satisfying even to those not familiar with the books.

Satisfying, that is, so long as they are happy to accept the internal logic of a world where a 22-year-old slacker who plays bass in a garage band can not only be challenged to a series of crazy computer-game-style battles to win the heart of the woman of his dreams, but also rise to the challenge almost without batting an eyelid. If you’re sitting there asking questions like ‘but how did he learn to fight like that?’, this might be the wrong film for you. If you’re willing to immerse yourself in a world where the rules of games, comics and action films can bleed seamlessly into that of twenty-something relationship dilemmas, then you’ll probably fall in love with this film.

The film’s reference points are clearly signalled in its visual style. Pixellated visuals, enemies who expire in a shower of coins, and comic-book-style ‘thunks’ and ‘whumps’ written across the screen all show that we are a long way from reality, most likely somewhere slap bang in the middle of nerd heaven.

Nevertheless, in spite of the sillyness, geekiness and full-on special effects explosions, this is a film with a heart. Michael Cera does a great job as the somewhat dim, yet hugely charming eponymous hero, while Mary Elizabeth Winstead manages to give real depth to his love interest Ramona – no mean feat, given that the plot requires her to be so mysterious that she could come across as having no personality at all in the hands of the wrong actress. The supporting cast are all absolutely spot-on, although special mention should go to Kieran Culkin as Scott’s witty roommate Wallace Wells.

Some plot adjustments have been made to condense the action of the books, which takes place over many months, and make it more straightforward, but it stays true to the spirit of the original and overall is remarkably faithful, especially considering that the sixth and final book was not even out until very recently, when the film must already have been all but completed.

The books had something genuine to say about relationships and growing up, and I think that the film has managed to retain that message and be moving as well as hugely entertaining.

Art Review: Picasso: The Mediterranean Years, Gagosian Gallery

I had never heard of the Gagosian Gallery until this exhibition, and it’s not exactly the sort of place you could stumble upon by accident – it’s tucked away down a side street near Kings Cross station, a street so deserted and dilapidated-looking that we were not even confident we were in the right place until we found ourselves right next to the sliding doors of the gallery. It turned out to be a small place of about three or four rooms, with the Picasso exhibition the only thing that was on. The exhibition itself was fantastic. As well as paintings in Picasso’s most recognisable Cubist style there were sketches, pottery, sculpture, posters and paper models. The impression was of someone with a fantastically creative mind, who couldn’t wait to try turning his hand to new mediums. Animals appear to have been a popular subject, with bulls in particular making frequent appearances. One fascinating sequence of sketches begins with a realistic representation of a bull and then simplifies and simplifies it, until nothing is left but a few lines and shapes, which nevertheless still clearly evoke the form of the animal. Most of the pieces are simply bursting with life and personality, and I can think of few exhibitions that I have gone round with such a big smile on my face.

The exhibition continues until 28^th August.

Things to do in London: Peregrine falcon watching at the Tate Modern

You might not think it, but apparently London is a great habitat for peregrine falcons, with 18 known breeding pairs in the city. They like to nest on tall buildings, and provide a natural form of pigeon control. And one of their favourite locations is the top of the towering chimney of the Tate Modern. They don’t actually nest there, most likely because the ledges are too small, but they frequently roost there, and bring the juveniles along to learn hunting skills.

I learned all this from the friendly people at the RSPB stand by Millennium Bridge, who have their telescopes trained on the chimney top so that members of the public can see the birds. One helper explained that he’d even seen an adult bring back a dead pigeon and drop it from the tower for a youngster to dive off after. Nothing as spectacular as that happened while we were there, but we were lucky enough to get to see a juvenile, fully grown but still slightly fluffy looking, perched on a ledge far above the Thames. It is far too high to see anything with the naked eye, but the RSPB people watch carefully for the birds to land and position the telescopes accordingly.

It’s strangely exciting to think that these prehistoric-looking hunters could be perched above our heads at any time as we wander through the busy streets of London.

The RSPB will be on hand to point them out 12 noon-7pm every day until 12^th September.

More London activities from this weekend coming soon...

How excited am I about the Scott Pilgrim film?

The answer is, of course, very excited. I have recently finished reading the comics (the sixth and last volume came out a couple of weeks ago) and I loved them. They are funny, touching and, according to Joss Whedon, “the chronicle of our time”.

Although I am normally quite wary about film adaptations of books I have taken to my heart, I have to say, the signs are looking good for this one.

Early reviews after the film’s screening at Comic Con seem positive, and all the clips and trailers online look spot-on to me (Why, yes, I have been watching all that I can find). It seems as though the humour and the comic-book/computer game references have carried over very well. Plus, the more I think about the choice of Edgar Wright as director, the more it makes sense. After all, Scott Pilgrim does have a lot in common with Spaced. Slacker heroes. Geek references. Silly comedy combined with characters you genuinely care about, trying to figure out their lives and relationships.

I only hope Michael Cera does a good job as Scott. He’s known for playing shy and nervous characters, but Scott is hopelessly positive and cheerful. Still, the trailers look promising, and there appears to have been some good casting of the supporting characters (Scott’s friends and the evil exes). I’m sure Jason Schwartzman will be great as Gideon.

So overall, yes, I am super-excited, and I really, really, hope that this film can live up to my expectations.

Film Review: Inception

Inception tells the story of Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio), an expert at entering people’s dreams and stealing their secrets. Then he is given a new challenge – to do the opposite, to use his skill to plant an idea in someone’s mind. To do this, he needs to go deep into the dreamer’s subconscious, by creating a dream within a dream within a dream.

This concept makes for a structure as intricate as can be expected from director Christopher Nolan – each level of the dream operates on a different time scale, and events that happen to the sleeper can affect the content of the dream. For example, when the dreamer is falling, there is no gravity in the dream, resulting in one particularly spectacular fight sequence. The interactions between the different levels are well-handled, with enough markers to remind the viewer of what is going on ‘outside’ the dream. Indeed, it is impressive how the film manages to dazzle with its complexity while still not leaving the audience behind.

Nolan also finds hugely imaginative ways to represent the subconscious mind, to visually stunning effect.

DiCaprio, one of my favourite actors, is impressive, and there is a starry supporting cast, including Ken Watanabe, Cillian Murphy, Marion Cotillard, Michael Caine and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Ellen Page gives a mature performance as Cobb’s protégé the aptly-named* Ariadne, a talented trainee architect who he tempts away from her studies to learn to ‘build’ the settings for the dreams he enters. Her character in part serves as a plot device so that the processes of Cobb’s work can be explained to the audience, and to force him to face up to the past that is haunting him, but she brings a depth to the role, and there are some great sequences as she learns to manipulate the landscape of dreams, discovering the joy of “pure creation”.

*Ariadne was a character in Greek myth who guided Theseus out of the labyrinth of the Minotaur.

Art review: Céleste Boursier-Mougenot for the Curve, at the Barbican Centre until 23rd May 2010

This wonderful installation is exactly the kind of modern art I like: it’s interactive, original, and provokes a strong emotional response. You can enjoy it even if you know nothing about art and have no ideas about what it might ‘mean’.


The Curve space at the Barbican centre has been transformed into a large aviary full of zebra finches – yes, a huge flock of live birds. It is landscaped with a path winding through sandy areas with tufts of grass, and nest boxes have been placed on the walls. And around the room, there have been placed a selection of guitars, base guitars and cymbals, all hooked up to amps. As the birds fly around and come to roost on these instruments, pecking seeds out from between the guitar strings, their movements trigger a constant background of musical sounds.

Fascinating as it is to hear this soundscape, it is being in such close proximity to these creatures that makes the installation such a unique experience – and it helps that the zebra finches are just about the cutest birds imaginable. They are tiny, with delicate pointed red beaks and fluffy, prettily patterned feathers, in varying shades of grey and brown. They dart through the air at speed, and chirrup surprisingly loudly for such small creatures, their calls mingling with the more unorthodox sounds of the installation.

Since they have now been in residence for some time, the finches are very tame, and will land, uninvited on visitors’ shoulders and bags. I saw about six of them crowd onto one man’s feet, perhaps attracted by the bright yellow laces in his trainers, preventing him from walking anywhere until his companion gently shooed them away. The sense of wonder was clear to see in the faces of all the visitors.

I don’t know if there was some deeper meaning to this piece, but I believe that sometimes art is all about the experience, and this was one that I certainly won’t forget.

A video clip of this installation:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89Kz8Nxb-Bg

Film Review: Shutter Island

Director Martin Scorsese has created an old-fashioned thriller, in which he openly acknowledges his debt to the likes of Hitchcock. The film is set in the 1950s, and its tropes and imagery hark back to an earlier age of cinema: the protagonists are physically isolated on a forbidding looking island, dramatic weather sets the mood, the hands of the inmates reach out through the bars of the asylum cells.

However, the film is not an exercise in knowing pastiche, more of a faithful homage. And it is fitting, therefore, that I found it enjoyable in a very old-fashioned way – as an exciting and satisfying mystery. Despite the many twists and turns of the plot, it was in no way demanding to follow and I felt that the story was always ‘fair’ to the audience in that none of the twists came out of the blue. They were not predictable, but they were always set up within the context of the story. Twists that come completely out of nowhere can feel contrived, leaving the audience feeling cheated, as though the film they thought they were watching has been tossed aside for the sake of some meaningless cheap shock. In this case, the twists, as good twists should, throw new light on what has gone before, so that, even when everything is turned on its head, the audience still feels they are watching a complete and satisfying film.

Leonardo diCaprio - an excellent and somewhat under-rated actor in my opinion -gives a typically convincing performance in the lead role, and the supporting cast do a good job too, with just the right amount of hamminess on display for the type of film. Everybody looks the part - Mark Ruffalo in particular, as diCaprio’s sidekick, seems to have the perfect face for the 1950s - and the cinematography is stunning and atmospheric.

Despite touching on some interesting points about power, exploitation and the nature of madness, it never explores any of these ideas further than they move the plot along. This is not a think piece. It set out to be a thriller and it delivers magnificently – a masterclass in tension, pace and atmosphere.

Why 6 Music should be saved (And not just because I like it)

I have to admit I love 6 Music. I listen to it all the time, and if they do get rid of it, there won’t be much point me even owning a radio any more, let alone a digital one. But that’s not the only reason it should be saved.


I would take issue with BBC Director General Mark Thompson’s crude characterisation of the station as a “pop music” station. In an interview with the BBC News Channel (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8545538.stm), Mr Thompson said: “We have, in Radio 1 and Radio 2, two popular music, UK-wide radio stations and we should concentrate on doing everything we need to do, in terms of bringing popular music to audiences in this county with those two stations.” Now, anyone with even a cursory familiarity with those three radio stations will know that the content of each of them is completely different to the others. And even if you don’t, there is still the fact that, as Private Eye points out (issue 1258, pg 10), Radio 1 is aimed at 15-29-year-olds, while Radio 2’s audience has an average age of 50, and the BBC Trust has recommended that it do more to target the over-65s. That leaves a lot of people falling into the large gulf between the two stations, even without taking into account those such as myself who feel we have outgrown Radio 1 before we have outgrown its target age bracket.

6 Music features a remarkably rich and eclectic range of music, and presenters like Steve Lamacq and Lauren Laverne really know their stuff. And, yes, it’s pretty geeky. If I was being cynical I could say its ideal listener was the main character from Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity. But it you don’t really have to be that well-informed to appreciate being introduced to great music that would never get played on any other station. And it also provides opportunities for new bands to get heard and perhaps break through into the mainstream (as was the case with the now-ubiquitous Florence and the Machine).

I suppose, when it comes down to it, its not just about 6 Music – I take issue with the Strategy Review’s whole message about ‘doing fewer things better.’ What this means is basically neglecting the niche in favour of the mainstream, and this seems to me to go against one of the main things that the BBC stands for. Surely the whole point of the BBC as a public body is that it can do things that a commercial organisation never could – like serving smaller demographics and taking risks with programming? The ‘fewer things’ it chooses to concentrate on will necessarily have to be crowd-pleasing, populist things, similar to what commercial channels and stations provide. If the BBC has no place for eccentrics, then who else will?
Make your feelings known: https://consultations.external.bbc.co.uk/departments/bbc/bbc-strategy-review/consultation/consult_view

Or email: srconsultation@bbc.co.uk

Theatre review: Money, Shunt Collective, Bermondsey St, London, 12th March 2010

For this show, the Shunt Collective has created a vast and highly original set in a warehouse near its Bermondsey Street headquarters. From the outside, it looks vaguely industrial, some huge metal machine with ladders and walkways around the outside. Then, the audience are led through a door and into the interior. They move through a series of rooms and different levels, where the action of the play takes place above, below and all around. The surprises of each different section of the structure and how it is revealed give the piece part of its impact, so I won’t give too many details, but suffice to say that it is about as far as you can get from a traditional proscenium arch theatre.


The reviews that I had read led me to believe that there was no plot whatsoever, but this isn’t strictly true. It is certainly sparse in detail, the dialogue is often absurd and elliptical and there isn’t a conventional narrative. But the play is based on Emile Zola’s novel L’Argent, which was about a real life banking crash in nineteenth century France, and with this in mind it is easy to see the machine as representative of a financial institution. Early on, a man tries to gain entry into a Kafkaesque bureaucratic organisation. Later, the same character, now a big success, reels off meaningless but ever increasing numbers to show how his unspecified enterprise is growing. Another character tells a story about a man who was desperate to buy shares in “this”, she says, with a wave of the arm that takes in the whole set without explaining what it is that is so valuable.

The machine is an apt metaphor for a bloated financial institution – a vast, incomprehensible structure, whose function is unclear, but whose vital importance is never questioned by those who rush around it, endlessly tending to its hissing, groaning pipes and gears. As the numbers on the screens shoot up, it seems ever more unlikely that the structure can take the strain.

In the end, this show is all about the spectacle. Being at the centre of the action is a successful technique because it is so immersive. Every little detail of the set produces satisfying ‘ooo’s of wonder as it is revealed. The sights and sounds and surprises produce a genuine reaction from the audience. It doesn’t play on the emotions in the way that a character-driven drama might, but it provides an intense sensory experience that never allows you to stay a step removed.

I have an article on Comment is Free...

Check out my Comment is Free article: How saying Kathryn Bigelow has made a 'man's film' does female directors no favours.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/mar/11/kathryn-bigelow-women-male-establishment

Film Review: Up in the Air

George Clooney, despite being one of the most A-listed men on the planet, seems to spend very little of his time making blockbusters. He manages to maintain hugely mainstream status, while choosing roles in offbeat or unusual films, and supporting projects that he believes in (see: Oh Brother Where Art Thou?, Good Night and Good Luck, etc) With this in mind, I had high hopes for this quirky comedy about a businessman who spends most of his life flying from one part of America to another.


In reality, the film did not turn out to be anything special, although it was well-acted and amusing. Clooney is charming and charismatic as Ryan Bingham, who loves his life on the road and eschews emotional ties, and his skills as a comic actor are also on display. Although the film is never hilarious, there are plenty of laughs to be had. Telling little details of Ryan’s life are revealed as he shows off his frequent flyer cards to fellow business traveller and occasional lover Alex (Vera Farmiga), or demonstrates his methods for a quick and painless transit through an airport to the new recruit he reluctantly trains (Anna Kendrick). Kendrick also gives a good performance as Natalie, the overly ambitious young employee with big ideas that threaten Ryan’s way of life.
The film is directed with a light touch and neatly ducks a number of narrative clichés, but it lacks the emotional punch to really make a lasting impression. The characters go through mostly plausible emotional journeys but somehow it is hard to care deeply about them. There is a confusing scene in which Natalie confesses her insecurities to the other two main characters, explaining how she feels under pressure to ‘have it all’ – to be successful in her career but also to be married with children by a certain age. It isn’t clear whether the scene is being played for laughs, or whether these deeply stereotypical concerns are a serious attempt at character development. However, elsewhere I felt the humour was well-pitched.

This is a gentle and entertaining film that is smart enough to resist easy answers or a neat ending, but in emotional terms I felt it didn’t quite get off the ground.

Book Review: The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman

Much as I love Neil Gaiman, I have always preferred him as a writer of graphic novels and children’s picture books. In American Gods, I felt that his wonderful imagination, plot and characters slightly outstripped his talent with prose – he is a good writer, but maybe not a great one, in full-length adult fiction.


With The Graveyard Book, on the other hand, I didn’t have this problem, perhaps because it is in a different category again – a full-length prose book for older children (recommended for 9-12-year-olds). Or at least, that is the intended audience, but I would say it stands up very well to being read by adults. And I can’t be the only one who thinks so, as it is available in an alternative cover, as the Harry Potter books were, for adults who are embarrassed to be seen with something ‘childish’. However, I don’t think there’s any shame whatsoever in enjoying this sweetly macabre tale.

For an adult, it is a short and easy read, but nevertheless an enchanting one. As for children, I think I would have loved it when I was young. Gaiman credits his young readers with the ability to cope with a little darkness, and the book is all the better for it. Nobody Owens, or Bod for short, is an orphan, whose whole family were murdered when he was a baby. He escaped and was adopted by some friendly ghosts. He grows up in a graveyard, and all the resident ghosts become his friends and educators, but as he gets older he begins to yearn to explore the world of the living. However, his family’s murder is still out there, and he has unfinished business with Bod.

The book is structured as a series of interconnected short stories, snapshots of Bod at different ages, growing up and experiencing more dangers, first in the graveyard, and then the world outside. The graveyard folklore and magic that is a part of Bod’s day to day existence is typical of Gaiman – a wonderfully imaginative mixture of charming and spooky. Bod’s adoptive parents and many of the other ghosts are quirky and heart-warming, while other characters are much darker. There is plenty of adventure, but this is also a book about a boy growing up and becoming independent, told in a way that will resonate with readers. On both levels, this book can be enjoyed by both children and adults.

Natural World: The Chimpcam Project (27th January 2010, BBC2)

Chimps are alarmingly clever. Every time we humans think up some defining factor that is supposed to separate us from the animals, we discover they’ve actually been doing it all along. Using tools? Yep. Communication? Yep. Recognising themselves in the mirror and, by extension, having a concept of self versus ‘other’? Yep. Making their own films? Well, ok, maybe not quite, just yet. Despite how the programme was billed, the chimps never seem to actually understand what they are doing when they are carrying a recording video camera (in a highly durable case) around their enclosure.


But, in spite of this, scientist Betsy Herrelko’s attempts to get them to interact with the camera and screen throw up many interesting examples of their intelligence. Despite being adults who have never taken part in research before, they quickly learn how to use a touch screen, to click on and select icons in the form of large red circles. They appear deeply interested when shown footage of other chimps, and when they are given the video camera, they touch its inbuilt screen as though making the connection with the touch screens they have already experienced.

It’s all very humbling. The chimps’ deeply expressive faces clearly show their intelligence and curiosity, making it clear that we humans are not quite so special as we like to think. For me, the most telling part was when the scientists opened up the doors to the ‘research pods’, small rooms off the chimps’ impressive enclosure at Edinburgh Zoo, where they could observe them interacting with the screens and other tests. They were uncertain at first whether the chimps would actually leave their outdoor climbing frames to come into these small rooms. But as soon as they were opened, the chimps had to explore, and they seemed genuinely interested in all the games and diversions inside. It was clear that the scientists could never have got any research done at all, if it weren’t for an equally strong desire in their chimp subjects to ‘research’ every new experience they came across, including the humans themselves.

DVD review: Doubt

This is a hugely impressive film with some of the most masterful acting I have seen in a long time. It was adapted by director John Patrick Shanley from his own stage play and there are certainly signs of its theatrical roots – a limited number of characters and locations, an emphasis on dialogue and character, heavy on words rather than action. Two important verbal clashes between Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman’s characters lasted 10 or 15 minutes each, both taking place within the confines of a single office, and the majority of the scenes are similarly wordy, slow-paced, and in-depth. However, none of this is to the detriment of the film. Instead, it draws the audience into the claustrophobic confines of its world – a Catholic school in New York, 1964 – and makes its central dilemma hit home all the harder.


At the film’s heart is a titanic battle of wills between fearsomely straight-laced nun Sister Aloysius (Streep) and popular priest Father Flynn (Hoffman). Sister Aloysius suspects Father Flynn of molesting a young altar boy, the school’s first black pupil. With no conclusive proof, and expecting no help from the male-dominated church hierarchy, she sets out on a personal crusade to get him to confess. But is she merely motivated by her intense dislike of him and his modernising ways?

Shanley refuses to give any easy answers. He has reportedly never told anyone whether Father Flynn was guilty other than Hoffman and the actor who took the part in the stage version. The audience sympathises most fully with the character of Sister James (Amy Adams), and innocent young nun who finds herself torn between Sister Aloysius’ certainty and her own unwillingness to judge anyone without proof. Father Flynn is in many ways the more appealing character – he is in favour of a more open and approachable church and encourages Sister James in her kind-heartedness and love of teaching, while Sister Aloysius terrifies the children and bans sweets, ballpoint pens and ‘pagan’ songs such as Frosty the Snowman. Yet there is something admirable about her fierce dedication to her beliefs, her determination to be the lone voice standing up against what she believes to be a terrible crime. Much of the film’s power comes from Shanley’s refusal to give closure on this awful dilemma.

Special mention should also be given to Viola Davis, who gives a terrific performance in her single scene as the mother of the boy at the centre of the scandal. Her reaction to Sister Aloysius’ suspicions is one of the most heart-breaking parts of the film

Film Review: The Road

As a fan of Cormac McCarthy’s bleakly beautiful book, I was always going to have high standards for John Hillcoat’s film of The Road, but in the end I was very impressed. The film didn’t quite have the same horrifying impact as the book, but I would imagine that no film could manage that.

Visually, in particular, Hillcoat has done an excellent job, and the cinematography somehow echoes very precisely the tone of McCarthy’s descriptions of the blasted landscape of a post-apocalyptic America. The film uses a subtly expressive palette of greys and washed out colours to make the country’s bare trees and abandoned buildings suitably forbidding, but eerily beautiful.

A haggard-looking Viggo Mortensen gives a great performance as the father trudging across this landscape, trying to keep himself and his young son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) alive in a world where little hope is left. The two of them carry the vast majority of the screen time unaided, and this is, essentially, a film about parenthood, about the terror of bringing children into a harsh world and then struggling to protect them.

Smit-McPhee also gives a good performance, as the son who gives the story its moral heart, showing how a lifetime of trusting no one has worn him out, and shaken his belief that the pair of them really are “the good guys”. Flashbacks show how the boy’s mother (Charlize Theron) gave up hope in the face of a future that seemed without meaning, and the audience can certainly sympathise with her despair. But, for the father, his son is enough to redeem his continuing existence.

The Road is a thought-provoking and disturbing film, which will linger long in the mind after watching.