You may not have noticed, but I write a blog when I have time. I'm one of millions of people across the globe who use 'blogging' as a means of self-expression. I also do it under the (possibly mistaken) impression that people care what I write about. My blogging takes many forms, mainly items you'd expect to find in a newspaper's editorial and opinion section. I also review student plays I've seen. Again. it's because I believe people care about what I think. I could be wrong, but then there's probably no way of knowing, because the percentage of the population that reads what I write can probably be written out to twenty decimal places. I don't get paid for what I write, though I would quite like to write for a newspaper or magazine one day. Maybe. If I'm good enough. A nice man called Ian I met at the Independent once told me it would be a good way to let newspapers see what my writing was like.
The second point I should raise in this deeply self-expressive, self-reflective piece is that what I write is often unsubstantiated. It's opinion I gauge from other newspapers, Reuters that sort of thing. Must try harder. I could probably make outrageous claims, snug in the knowledge that no-one's going to notice.
So, I could say that Stephen Gately died as a result of excess fluid build-up on the lungs because he was swilling port whilst watching panda porn. I don't know if Stephen Gately liked port, or if he had a hankering for panda porn. Actually, I didn't know Stephen Gately. Aside from its alliterative value, my claim is based solely on my own conjecture and flies in the face of what a coroner and his own family have publicly stated was the cause of his death. Natural causes.
In making my outraaageous claims about Stephen's love of port and panda porn, I have now placed myself in the same league as the Queen of Tact, Jan Moir. The only difference is that she gets paid to write utter bollocks. I don't and this an imbalance I feel should be addressed immediately.
Her article has already proved to be polemic. The Internet backlash against it has been remarkable. A Facebook group has been set up asking that she retract her comments and Charlie Brooker has published his own counter-comment. Stephen Fry has Twittered about it and his army of Twitter followers are nodding their heads in agreement.
Much like the death of Michael Jackson, Gately's death has become part of public discourse in a way that is morbid and disturbing. Despite the attempts to treat his death with the privacy and professionalism that should be accorded the aftermath of any such tragic death, self-righteous shrews such as Jan Moir and her tabloid/gossip column peers have waded in with their own opinions. Much was made of Jackson's death, the life he led in the weeks leading up to it. It was somewhat gratifying when, a short while ago, an autopsy revealed he DID have the skin pigmentation condition he kept trying to tell people he suffered from.
They were ultimately proved wrong. This is why Jan Moir should not have to retract her claims.
I could name several other Daily Mail columnists whom I dislike. Melanie Philips, Richard Littlejohn, Amanda Platell. They can always be counted upon for their, at worst hateful, at best snide opinions. But this is the Daily Mail we're talking about. Look in the history books and you'll discover it's been spouting the same crap for most of its existence. Even when Britain had an Empire, you can bet it wasn't good enough, that too many Indians were mouthing off, that Germany's empire was better. It supported Oswald Moseley's party for a brief stint in the Thirties. It bemoans the falling education standards in this country, yet has some of the worst grammar and syntax in its editorials. It hates Tony Blair for being born, loves Margaret Thatcher to the point where you think it might just slip her a date-rape drug and book into a seedy B&B with her. It never claims to say immigrants should go home, but indirectly blames them for local councils cancelling Christmas lights. It things tax cuts are the answer to all of Britain's economic woes. Sometimes, it seems think there is a PC, homosexual consensus running the country.
In most cases, if you read around a bit more, you can find a lot of areas where it's wrong, rendering its opinions as just that - opinions. Fairly stupid opinions at that. Stephen Gately's death is a private matter and the Daily Mail should consider editorial standards when it harps on about the Andrew Sachs affair for nearly six months and then goes on to allow a different, albeit equally underhand personal attack on a young man when his family and loved ones are in the middle of grieving at his passing.
Moir's response would potentially be to say that's its political correctness gone mad. This is a tired refrain for the Daily Mail and other tabloid newspapers. There is a line between political correctness and tact. It is a line that tabloid columnists cross too often.
Friday 16 October 2009
Thursday 27 August 2009
Edinburgh Festival: 2009 - 'Stitches' by Claire Urwin
Some reviews have called this piece of new writing, from the University of Manchester and 'Scratch That' theatre company, science fiction. I would like to go along with this, because ultimately most good science fiction has a compelling story, is often set in a fictional other time or place, and has an amazing capacity for imagination; these are all qualities that 'Stitches' possesses in abundance.
This is Claire Urwin's third play and her second in Edinburgh and I think the strength of her writing is in its willingness to experiment with poetic and novel forms too. The opening monologue from Elisabeth Hopper's Amy had me thinking of a number of novels - 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells, or 'War of the Worlds' by the same author. I say this because this old fashioned science fiction, when it was just the writer's ability to imagine strange, impossible things that made it so fascinating. This tradition is mixed with Urwin's use of language and conjuring up of weird and wonderful images, to create a horrifying future in which the 'Firefloods' sweep across the surface of the Earth, decimating the population. Populations are then split up, as mankind divides into those on the Rafts and the Floats.
I'll say no more to avoid ruining it for those who have not seen it, but Urwin's language seems to have found a perfect niche here; she invents a new world after this horrible event in which new language and half-remembered slang combine and characterise a Cinder Age in which the rest of the play is set. Four women spend their days desperately trying to piece together life in the time that came before.
Their little group is more of a commune than a community and, under Rajiv Nathwani's direction, each character seems to represent a different reaction to the end of the world. Jess Cobham-Dineen's Webb is the de-facto leader, the tired face of the bureaucracy for which they work; Caitlin Albery Beavan as Libby is an infantile figure who seems to believe that if she simply does her job, all will be well. Vanessa Fogarty as Bel is a remnant from the upper class, who despite her haughtiness, demands not to be treated any differently because of her social station. The final of the main four is Claire Rugg's Nettie who, if the word still existed, I would describe as bourgeois, hating Bel for her class and genuinely saddened and twisted by what sounds like quite a loveless life (from her own little speech in the middle).
Again, I'll refrain from saying too much about their relationships except to say that you find yourself watching closely when Hopper's Amy joins the group. With her wild eyes and rubbing of her nose, she commands your attention even when she has no dialogue.
My only criticism of the play is minor and easily fixed, but it essentially boils down to length. The combination of Urwin's writing and the energetic direction of the play, means that it seems to end just as it begins to get interesting. All the dynamics and nuances are never given a chance to fully play themselves out. I believe this would go away if the play were lengthened; ultimately this is probably a pitfall of the Edinburgh festival, in which a culture of many plays means that the short running time is a necessary evil. I would recommend this play, however, because ultimately its combination of original writing and an excellent ensemble cast under some taut direction, means I would happily sit through another hour of this.
****
Thursday 20 August 2009
Oh, for 27 years ago, when A-levels were taken by genuinely clever people
The August debate about A-levels and university admissions is upon us again; it’s now as much an annual summer events as the hopes of Britain fielding a Wimbledon champion, or the empty speculation surrounding the beginning of a new football season. I use those two examples because they, like the A-level debate, annually contain arguments from both people who know what they are talking about, and those who are fond of coming up with empty, half-baked and ultimately unhelpful remarks. Much like anything, I suppose.
Will this little rant be the former or the latter? I suppose you’ll have to decide for yourself. I’ll try to make it more thought out than some of the commentary I heard when watching Wimbledon, some of which made you mouth silently at the television, as you wondered if what they were saying actually made sense.
Some of the things you read about A-levels every year makes your heart sink, if only because I can still strongly recall the year I got mine and you have to read the comments in the paper about grade inflation and how we’re now 27 years more spoon-fed than our predecessors.
The broad opponents in the Great A-level Debate are fairly well-established now. In one corner, we have the education traditionalists, the staunch defenders of A-levels as the ‘gold-plated’ qualification. They’re the ones who, at their most extreme, will recall an England where one is invited to imagine A-level maths students as human calculators, or English A-level pupils who could ream off an entire Shakespearean sonnet while paying for their groceries at the supermarket. No-one ever says that, but their tendency towards a romanticism of the educational past paints that sort of picture in my mind when I hear them compare Then to Now.
In the other corner, we have the temporary alliance of the teachers and the Government (who don’t seem to get on for the rest of the year) saying that the latest 0.3% rise in pass rates is a testament to the hard work and dedication of the students who sat the exams. Yet this group will often have to make concessions to the other, claiming standards are high whilst tinkering with the system to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth that the traditionalists might just have a point. An example would be the introduction of the A* grade next year, which is designed to tackle the non-problem of grade inflation.
In the middle, we have the youth of today themselves who, bless their little cotton socks, tried their darn best, but are let down by ever devalued exams (or not, if you want to join the second camp).
Politically speaking, the former side in the debate are often embodied by the Conservatives. Michael Gove, the Shadow Education Secretary, has said that should the Tories win the next election, he will reward schools that enter students for ‘tougher’ A-levels like physics and chemistry. The point being that the latter side, mostly embodied by our current New Labour government, has presided over a system whereby schools enter students for ‘easier’ subjects like media studies to make their place in league tables look more favourable.
This then, would seem to be the problem with our annual debate and it is symptomatic of a much larger problem with education in this country: the education system has too long been a tool of politicians, pundits and journalists to make their points in various ideological battles.
Both sides in this debate have a point, but they are only capable of hurling two fairly accepted truths back at each other: firstly, that students work hard every year for exams, and secondly, that pass rates and A-grades continue to rise. Confusingly, these two facts seem to work for and against each other.
The fallacy lies in the fact that, for too long, governments and theorists have sought one sure-fire way of testing and measuring intelligence. A-levels are expected to do a lot- move people past GCSEs whilst effectively acting as entrance exams for universities. Once upon a time they could do this quite well, when less people took them. Where once 3As could get you into Oxford or Cambridge, now the increasing volume of people achieving that grade makes differentiation between the hard-working and the child prodigies that bit harder. This is surely to be expected when more people take the same test. If I were a French teacher doing a vocabulary test and marked everyone out of ten, it would that much easier to find the bilingual geniuses if I only had a class of 15. If, on the other hand, I had a class of 150, you then need to start marking people to four decimal places to truly wean out the clever clogs in your midst (if you cared that much about French vocabulary).
So, I seem to be agreeing with the traditionalists when I say that too many people are getting A-grades at A-level. Well, no I’m not. First of all, I don’t agree with the commentators who say that A-levels have become the exam ‘that no-one can fail’, mainly because it begs the question: why would you want an exam with a sure-fire margin of failure? If everyone can pass, it doesn’t really matter so long as you’re still finding the clever ones. At university, most people pass as well. That doesn’t stop a bare pass from being a sign that you probably should have worked harder and drunk less.
Secondly, where I and the traditionalists seem to disagree is that they often seem to take the stance ‘A-level rigour or broke’. Put simply, the A-level used to be the only academic qualification worth its salt around and if you didn’t do well, there was little point in you continuing in formal education. Now, you also have the International Baccalaureate (IB) which is emerging as a rival in some schools. The traditionalists jump on this as another way to return to the ‘golden age’ of A-levels. The IB itself encourages students to take a wider variety of subjects and involves the writing of an extended project, or essay. The implementation of the IB may be beneficial to the Oxbridge hopefuls, yet the two main sides in our debate seem to miss the point of it and any attempts to make the A-levels like the IB have been done half-heartedly and to accusations of ‘dumbing down’. Recent attempts to replace the A-levels with new ‘diplomas’ have been met with limited success, mainly because schools have been reluctant to implement and enforce them and because of fears they will lead to a ‘two tier’ system. The conservative element in this debate refuse to drastically change the A-level; hence Michael Gove’s plan to merely reverse the bias of an already stupid league-table obsessed system.
Both sides are guilty in this debate if only because, instead of bringing in genuine reform, both are responsible for sweeping changes that don’t seem particularly thought out. The introduction of the AS was designed to break up the A-level but merely made it a more exam-obsessed qualification; indeed the phrase Curriculum 2000 sounds like something that was thought up, like the Millennium Dome, by ministers because it was the year 2000 and it sounded cool. Similarly, I would like to meet the evil genius who invented General Studies, the magical qualification that NO UNIVERSITY ACCEPTS. The introduction of unlimited re-sits was also rather silly, as the goal posts were shifted so that the A-level became not so much the exam that no-one could fail, but the exam that no-one could fail five times. None of these changes really did anything except make an exam system which, like any other, already had its flaws, seem more convoluted and unnecessary. Instead, rather than tweaking the exams to make university entry that much more likely, the grown-ups could learn much from the universities and change the way their courses are designed.
The point of the IB is that it’s more than just an academic rigour-fest. There seems to be an interest in developing as an all-round person, there a service and community element. Yet the arch-traditionalists would look on any such deviation from academia as potentially troublesome; you could do it to be a better UK citizen, but should university entry be involved, that dicey phrase ‘vocational’ comes into use again.
A genuine re-think about what makes a qualification might expose that small group of the conservatives who don’t want A-levels getting easier because they want the stupid to stay stupid and wallow in their own ignorance. A qualification that deals with making you an all-round person, measuring your day-to-day intelligence, ability to lead and such other CV-friendly attributes AND challenges you academically, is quite an appealing notion. Incorporating different elements into A-levels such as community service and ending the stigma around drama, dance and media studies aren’t necessary the death knell of academic rigour. It would also be a welcome opportunity to get more people more well-rounded before university and break down the system where-by internships and extra-curricular activities are sadly picked up by families who have connections and extra cash to do so.
Finally, try and dispel the notion that there was ever an unbreakable ‘gold standard’. If university teaches you anything it’s that essay-based subjects alone are marked with a combination of the marker interpreting a marking scheme and using a bit of their subjectivity. Universities, the height of academic rigour, are the most wildly fluctuating places for marks across differing modules. Exams are about the people marking them as well as the people taking them. Science may be more about right and wrong, but if you want to argue that science is more rigorous than the arts, be my guest. That’s a can of worms for another time and place. It’s true that students today couldn’t do a paper from 1982. But then I would probably need some time to retake my 2005 American History A-level and you know why?...because I haven’t studied for it in about four years.
Michael Gove can posture all he wants about getting schools to take on more ‘rigorous’ A-levels. But what he and a lot of governments ministers forget is that they are not the ones who will help a student prepare for an exam in a subject that they enjoy, and which will affect their life….and it is very much their life.
P.S. I am aware I haven’t outlined my plans for changing A-levels very well. I suppose I’ve only thought about it for an hour or so. Cut me some slack though - if I’d thought about it for one more hour, I could be in Opposition. If I thought about it for two more hours, I’d probably have enough to be Education Secretary.
P.P.S. If A-levels were more rigorous 27 years ago, then some, SOME, of the maths and economics graduates must have gone on from their studies to become very successful bankers who, in 2008, did this really clever thing where they lost all of our....oh wait.
Will this little rant be the former or the latter? I suppose you’ll have to decide for yourself. I’ll try to make it more thought out than some of the commentary I heard when watching Wimbledon, some of which made you mouth silently at the television, as you wondered if what they were saying actually made sense.
Some of the things you read about A-levels every year makes your heart sink, if only because I can still strongly recall the year I got mine and you have to read the comments in the paper about grade inflation and how we’re now 27 years more spoon-fed than our predecessors.
The broad opponents in the Great A-level Debate are fairly well-established now. In one corner, we have the education traditionalists, the staunch defenders of A-levels as the ‘gold-plated’ qualification. They’re the ones who, at their most extreme, will recall an England where one is invited to imagine A-level maths students as human calculators, or English A-level pupils who could ream off an entire Shakespearean sonnet while paying for their groceries at the supermarket. No-one ever says that, but their tendency towards a romanticism of the educational past paints that sort of picture in my mind when I hear them compare Then to Now.
In the other corner, we have the temporary alliance of the teachers and the Government (who don’t seem to get on for the rest of the year) saying that the latest 0.3% rise in pass rates is a testament to the hard work and dedication of the students who sat the exams. Yet this group will often have to make concessions to the other, claiming standards are high whilst tinkering with the system to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth that the traditionalists might just have a point. An example would be the introduction of the A* grade next year, which is designed to tackle the non-problem of grade inflation.
In the middle, we have the youth of today themselves who, bless their little cotton socks, tried their darn best, but are let down by ever devalued exams (or not, if you want to join the second camp).
Politically speaking, the former side in the debate are often embodied by the Conservatives. Michael Gove, the Shadow Education Secretary, has said that should the Tories win the next election, he will reward schools that enter students for ‘tougher’ A-levels like physics and chemistry. The point being that the latter side, mostly embodied by our current New Labour government, has presided over a system whereby schools enter students for ‘easier’ subjects like media studies to make their place in league tables look more favourable.
This then, would seem to be the problem with our annual debate and it is symptomatic of a much larger problem with education in this country: the education system has too long been a tool of politicians, pundits and journalists to make their points in various ideological battles.
Both sides in this debate have a point, but they are only capable of hurling two fairly accepted truths back at each other: firstly, that students work hard every year for exams, and secondly, that pass rates and A-grades continue to rise. Confusingly, these two facts seem to work for and against each other.
The fallacy lies in the fact that, for too long, governments and theorists have sought one sure-fire way of testing and measuring intelligence. A-levels are expected to do a lot- move people past GCSEs whilst effectively acting as entrance exams for universities. Once upon a time they could do this quite well, when less people took them. Where once 3As could get you into Oxford or Cambridge, now the increasing volume of people achieving that grade makes differentiation between the hard-working and the child prodigies that bit harder. This is surely to be expected when more people take the same test. If I were a French teacher doing a vocabulary test and marked everyone out of ten, it would that much easier to find the bilingual geniuses if I only had a class of 15. If, on the other hand, I had a class of 150, you then need to start marking people to four decimal places to truly wean out the clever clogs in your midst (if you cared that much about French vocabulary).
So, I seem to be agreeing with the traditionalists when I say that too many people are getting A-grades at A-level. Well, no I’m not. First of all, I don’t agree with the commentators who say that A-levels have become the exam ‘that no-one can fail’, mainly because it begs the question: why would you want an exam with a sure-fire margin of failure? If everyone can pass, it doesn’t really matter so long as you’re still finding the clever ones. At university, most people pass as well. That doesn’t stop a bare pass from being a sign that you probably should have worked harder and drunk less.
Secondly, where I and the traditionalists seem to disagree is that they often seem to take the stance ‘A-level rigour or broke’. Put simply, the A-level used to be the only academic qualification worth its salt around and if you didn’t do well, there was little point in you continuing in formal education. Now, you also have the International Baccalaureate (IB) which is emerging as a rival in some schools. The traditionalists jump on this as another way to return to the ‘golden age’ of A-levels. The IB itself encourages students to take a wider variety of subjects and involves the writing of an extended project, or essay. The implementation of the IB may be beneficial to the Oxbridge hopefuls, yet the two main sides in our debate seem to miss the point of it and any attempts to make the A-levels like the IB have been done half-heartedly and to accusations of ‘dumbing down’. Recent attempts to replace the A-levels with new ‘diplomas’ have been met with limited success, mainly because schools have been reluctant to implement and enforce them and because of fears they will lead to a ‘two tier’ system. The conservative element in this debate refuse to drastically change the A-level; hence Michael Gove’s plan to merely reverse the bias of an already stupid league-table obsessed system.
Both sides are guilty in this debate if only because, instead of bringing in genuine reform, both are responsible for sweeping changes that don’t seem particularly thought out. The introduction of the AS was designed to break up the A-level but merely made it a more exam-obsessed qualification; indeed the phrase Curriculum 2000 sounds like something that was thought up, like the Millennium Dome, by ministers because it was the year 2000 and it sounded cool. Similarly, I would like to meet the evil genius who invented General Studies, the magical qualification that NO UNIVERSITY ACCEPTS. The introduction of unlimited re-sits was also rather silly, as the goal posts were shifted so that the A-level became not so much the exam that no-one could fail, but the exam that no-one could fail five times. None of these changes really did anything except make an exam system which, like any other, already had its flaws, seem more convoluted and unnecessary. Instead, rather than tweaking the exams to make university entry that much more likely, the grown-ups could learn much from the universities and change the way their courses are designed.
The point of the IB is that it’s more than just an academic rigour-fest. There seems to be an interest in developing as an all-round person, there a service and community element. Yet the arch-traditionalists would look on any such deviation from academia as potentially troublesome; you could do it to be a better UK citizen, but should university entry be involved, that dicey phrase ‘vocational’ comes into use again.
A genuine re-think about what makes a qualification might expose that small group of the conservatives who don’t want A-levels getting easier because they want the stupid to stay stupid and wallow in their own ignorance. A qualification that deals with making you an all-round person, measuring your day-to-day intelligence, ability to lead and such other CV-friendly attributes AND challenges you academically, is quite an appealing notion. Incorporating different elements into A-levels such as community service and ending the stigma around drama, dance and media studies aren’t necessary the death knell of academic rigour. It would also be a welcome opportunity to get more people more well-rounded before university and break down the system where-by internships and extra-curricular activities are sadly picked up by families who have connections and extra cash to do so.
Finally, try and dispel the notion that there was ever an unbreakable ‘gold standard’. If university teaches you anything it’s that essay-based subjects alone are marked with a combination of the marker interpreting a marking scheme and using a bit of their subjectivity. Universities, the height of academic rigour, are the most wildly fluctuating places for marks across differing modules. Exams are about the people marking them as well as the people taking them. Science may be more about right and wrong, but if you want to argue that science is more rigorous than the arts, be my guest. That’s a can of worms for another time and place. It’s true that students today couldn’t do a paper from 1982. But then I would probably need some time to retake my 2005 American History A-level and you know why?...because I haven’t studied for it in about four years.
Michael Gove can posture all he wants about getting schools to take on more ‘rigorous’ A-levels. But what he and a lot of governments ministers forget is that they are not the ones who will help a student prepare for an exam in a subject that they enjoy, and which will affect their life….and it is very much their life.
P.S. I am aware I haven’t outlined my plans for changing A-levels very well. I suppose I’ve only thought about it for an hour or so. Cut me some slack though - if I’d thought about it for one more hour, I could be in Opposition. If I thought about it for two more hours, I’d probably have enough to be Education Secretary.
P.P.S. If A-levels were more rigorous 27 years ago, then some, SOME, of the maths and economics graduates must have gone on from their studies to become very successful bankers who, in 2008, did this really clever thing where they lost all of our....oh wait.
Friday 26 June 2009
Michael Jackson will die as he lived....in the horrid glare of the media spotlight
Earlier this year, in an astute study of the media reaction to 'famous' deaths, Charlie Brooker called the U-turn surrounding the news of Jade Goody's imminent death 'so big you could see it from space'. I suspect a similar reaction will follow the news of the more famous and talented Michael Jackson dying from a heart attack.
Give it a few days and the death of Michael Jackson will be in the same league as JFK and Elvis Presley in terms of remembering 'where you were' when you heard the news. The difference that exists, perhaps, between the deaths of these earlier figures and Jackson is that while Kennedy and Presley died in the 1960s and 1970s, Michael Jackson has died in an era that he himself was one of the architects of. Already news websites are referring to Jackson as a figure of what is known as 'the MTV generation'. MJ revolutionised the music industry; the 'Thriller' album has influenced countless others and Jackson even demonstrated a business acumen that saw him become bigger than the Beatles when he bought their back catalogue.
These are all things that the media will tell you in the days to come, as the reasons for and circumstances surrounding his death will be analysed and over analysed. The 'controversy' surrounding the kind of man Jackson had become, will also no doubt be a massive topic for discussion. His affection for the children he invited to his Neverland ranch will be discussed, possibly even revised, as the public perception of this superstar alters to fit his death.
The saga of Michael Jackson's life in the public eye will never fully be analysed by the media because Jackson's childhood rather accurately anticipated the age of 'Britain's Got Talent', 'The X Factor' and arguably began the whole vicious cycle of it.
The rise of Michael Jackson was the rise of pop, the taking off of the mass-marketed record industry and the rise of the superstar living under the microscope. The only thing preventing a LivingTV or MTV docusoap on Jackson was his status as a recluse and the fortress-like nature of his ranch. Yet coverage of Jackson's increasingly puzzling behaviour was beginning of a long line of ugly, boring and paradoxical programmes on 'celebrity lives' which has culminated in Katie and Peter, Kerry Katona and the aforementioned Jade Goody. The tragedy is that Michael Jackson was more talented than all of them combined. Yet the manner in which that talent was fostered was so entrenched in the 'industry' of music, that his life became a freak show. The footage of him dangling a baby out of his hotel room in Germany was looped and looped until it culminated in an interview conducted by Martin Bashir (who to be fair, tried to give it some relevance and gravitas). The death of Michael Jackson may have helped his public image. Tonight the debate over his life will begin in earnest. It may be better than the dismissal of him as a simple 'paedo'. Rest assured that the dust will settle in time for The X Factor in August, when we can sit back and watch the latest spin-offs of the Jackson story - the story of a fragile, talented person given too much to do, too soon in life.
Give it a few days and the death of Michael Jackson will be in the same league as JFK and Elvis Presley in terms of remembering 'where you were' when you heard the news. The difference that exists, perhaps, between the deaths of these earlier figures and Jackson is that while Kennedy and Presley died in the 1960s and 1970s, Michael Jackson has died in an era that he himself was one of the architects of. Already news websites are referring to Jackson as a figure of what is known as 'the MTV generation'. MJ revolutionised the music industry; the 'Thriller' album has influenced countless others and Jackson even demonstrated a business acumen that saw him become bigger than the Beatles when he bought their back catalogue.
These are all things that the media will tell you in the days to come, as the reasons for and circumstances surrounding his death will be analysed and over analysed. The 'controversy' surrounding the kind of man Jackson had become, will also no doubt be a massive topic for discussion. His affection for the children he invited to his Neverland ranch will be discussed, possibly even revised, as the public perception of this superstar alters to fit his death.
The saga of Michael Jackson's life in the public eye will never fully be analysed by the media because Jackson's childhood rather accurately anticipated the age of 'Britain's Got Talent', 'The X Factor' and arguably began the whole vicious cycle of it.
The rise of Michael Jackson was the rise of pop, the taking off of the mass-marketed record industry and the rise of the superstar living under the microscope. The only thing preventing a LivingTV or MTV docusoap on Jackson was his status as a recluse and the fortress-like nature of his ranch. Yet coverage of Jackson's increasingly puzzling behaviour was beginning of a long line of ugly, boring and paradoxical programmes on 'celebrity lives' which has culminated in Katie and Peter, Kerry Katona and the aforementioned Jade Goody. The tragedy is that Michael Jackson was more talented than all of them combined. Yet the manner in which that talent was fostered was so entrenched in the 'industry' of music, that his life became a freak show. The footage of him dangling a baby out of his hotel room in Germany was looped and looped until it culminated in an interview conducted by Martin Bashir (who to be fair, tried to give it some relevance and gravitas). The death of Michael Jackson may have helped his public image. Tonight the debate over his life will begin in earnest. It may be better than the dismissal of him as a simple 'paedo'. Rest assured that the dust will settle in time for The X Factor in August, when we can sit back and watch the latest spin-offs of the Jackson story - the story of a fragile, talented person given too much to do, too soon in life.
Friday 10 April 2009
Some Thoughts About Students and Herons (the play, not the bird)
A recent visit to the National Student Drama Festival in Scarborough last week got me to thinking about the nature of student drama, the types of it you see and even the connotations behind the words. After the trip to Scarborough and my own participation in student drama as part of Manchester University's In-Fringe Drama Festival, I've really come to dislike the phrase 'student drama'. I think the reason behind this is because ''student drama' can have a certain self-consciousness about it; a self-consciousness it doesn't need to have. I'm going to try and tie this in with my review of the only play I saw at the NSDF, Clive Judd's staging of the Simon Stephens play, Herons.
The first thing I should probably clear up is that, being a student myself, I am not suggesting the phrase 'student drama' be banned. After all, it is a legitimate way of describing theatre that is written, produced and staged by a certain demographic, like prisoners' theatre, American theatre,South African theatre, women's theatre (I could go on) etc. Indeed the people who judged the NSDF theatre, I would think, judged it by the same standards as they would judge anything else. That's why the end of the week had awards, because a lot of drama festivals do. All fine and dandy, because this was just a festival of drama like any other, the only difference being that a large majority of the participants were under the age of 25.
Where the self-consciousness comes into it is in some of the reviews I read of the Herons production. A good deal of these were written by students about students but it's an example of how student drama can sometimes get some really short-sighted associations slapped onto it.
Herons began with the sound effect of rushing water, with the characters on stage in blackout. Then, the sound stops and the character of Billy, played by Simon Longman, slowly points his fingers at the audience as if he is holding a gun.
BANG!
Now, what I did there was use the 'bang' to justify starting a new paragraph? Did you see that? Hey, I'm a student and sometimes like to mess with your mind (or, in this case, eyes) like that. One reviewer of this moment in the play said it was a bit GCSE. I'm paraphrasing but what annoyed me was how reductive this analysis was, both to the play and to GCSE drama, which is just as mixed, I'll grant you. If this was a fully professional production, you've got to wonder if it would get this same incisive analysis. No doubt the minimalist staging raised a few student-sceptical eyebrows. After all, them students, they love their empty stages don't they? Another review of the play got a bit too hung up on the scene where Scott Cooper (Edward Franklin), shoves a bottle up Billy's arse. Oooh how shocking, how visceral those students can be!! As a matter of fact, it was a particularly unpleasant moment in the play and well staged and finely acted by all concerned. But, because it was the students what did it, it seemed okay for someone to dwell on it, as if it's the point of the play, which it swiftly becomes if you make a big deal out of it.
The worst offender was the reviewer who suggested that the director of Herons was middle-class, patronising the black, urban underclass through his depiction of one of Scott's cronies, played by Ashley Gerlach. Leaving aside for one moment that Ashley was the second actor to play the part, after John Elliot (who was white) in its original Manchester performance, to refer to this as 'patronising' is insulting to Simon Stephens's writing and to student performances in general. Again, I'm pretty sure the reviewer was a student and there's that old self-consciousness again. Any quality, in some cases, seems to come second to what these students were trying to achieve, what they were trying to illustrate, unpack. Did they peel the onion of poverty and deprivation in the East End of London?
Do you know what other piece of drama I saw, a few days later, that also uses minimalist staging and uncomfortable depictions of urban poverty, primarily among black boys? The answer is 'The Wire'. I would be curious to see, if you put D'Angelo Barksdale on a red sofa in the middle of a stage with his cohorts, took David Simon's dialogue out of context and got a bunch of students to act it out, how long it would be before someone accused them of being patronising, or GCSE. Maybe no-one, maybe everyone would say that but the fact that students hypothetically performed it would open it up to that sort of criticism. This to me is unfair, since a lot of student drama is absolutely brilliant. Some of it is awful, but then so is a lot of professional drama. For instance, I can recall two performances of Shakespeare that I have seen, one recent and performed by students, the other in 2005 and headlining at Edinburgh, both of which I disliked. One, a version of 'Romeo and Juliet' didn't work, as they dropped characters, merged others and changed dialogue but there didn't seem to be any justification. The Edinburgh one was just...well I'll say 'witches in lycra' and leave it at that.
Herons itself was the third production I've seen directed by Clive Judd and, like its predecessors, it was a slow burning, well-acted and again illustrated the director's ability to make a good play out of a minimal set. Pale Horse used only a bar and some chairs and tables, All My Sons contained only some leaves and a bench and here the side of the canal was only some bricks. It was, however, all it needed.
Simon Longman's Billy may have been fourteen, he may have been seventeen but it some ways the physical age didn't matter because he was a child at heart, albeit one who had to look after his younger siblings and rage against his drunk mother rather than quietly fish for tench as he wanted to. His quiet demeanour and soft delivery were mixed with a capacity for fiercely defending those close to him, be it his mother or the girl whose murder was the violent prelude to the play. Ellie Rose, as Billy's mother, was a tragic figure, if only because she clearly cared for her son, but was a character completely incapable of taking care of children, her maternal instincts lost in physicality that reeked of drink and drugs. Similarly, Mark Weinman as the father was lost in his own world, annoyed at Billy whenever he dragged him out of his musings about herons eating his fish. Billy as a boy who had to grow up fast was re-enforced by the manner with which he gently had to look after his own dad, chiding him about jobs and attendance slips.
Edward Franklin's Scott Cooper made you want to see some Sopranos-esqe (ooh, French, very studenty) spin-off about his character. His moments of stage time were of a young boy who, again, could have been ten years older, warped as he was by his circumstances and an older brother who was in prison and perhaps ten times as psychotic. His sparring with Billy made for some of the tensest moments in the play and Longman's delivery of one particular comeback was received with rousing applause. Laurence Fox and the aforementioned Ashley Gerlach brought moments of black comic relief and nervous laughter from the audience but, in one entrance, made one mindful of the phrase 'feral youths'.
The character of Adele was the third, central character who wasn't allowed to be a child anymore. Her attempts at a carefree manner in dealing with loss and chaos around her was a marked contrast with Billy's acting as though the world were on his shoulders. Lisa Gill gave a spirited performance as a girl who was scared of her boyfriend one minute and then gently teasing Billy the next. Interspersed with calling her teacher a 'fat cunt' was more insightful and lovely dialogue about the tragedy that tied all the characters together and faking seizures. There was an especially touching moment in which she discovers she is a key character in Billy's diary entries.
All the performances were based on a script that was bleak and savage but also witty and hopeful, especially at its end. The casting left you wondering if the characters were adults in children's bodies and while it is obviously a cast that demands a young cast, the performances were such that the difference between adult and teenager was ambiguous and almost paradoxical. I think what Clive Judd has achieved with this, only the second performance of Herons, is that fourteen year olds are not a necessary part of staging a play about fourteen year olds; as long as they can convey this play's horribly thin line between the children and their equally clueless parents. The director and his actors should collaborate again, if only because these guys need another play to show off the talent which can only be built on after this production.
I think I managed to do that review without once mentioning the word 'student'. Which most of these guys were by the way.
"But James," I hear you ask. "How is this relevant to students? What can students get out of it?"
Well, isn't it obvious? They only used 25 bricks. 25 is like, such a symbolic number.
The first thing I should probably clear up is that, being a student myself, I am not suggesting the phrase 'student drama' be banned. After all, it is a legitimate way of describing theatre that is written, produced and staged by a certain demographic, like prisoners' theatre, American theatre,South African theatre, women's theatre (I could go on) etc. Indeed the people who judged the NSDF theatre, I would think, judged it by the same standards as they would judge anything else. That's why the end of the week had awards, because a lot of drama festivals do. All fine and dandy, because this was just a festival of drama like any other, the only difference being that a large majority of the participants were under the age of 25.
Where the self-consciousness comes into it is in some of the reviews I read of the Herons production. A good deal of these were written by students about students but it's an example of how student drama can sometimes get some really short-sighted associations slapped onto it.
Herons began with the sound effect of rushing water, with the characters on stage in blackout. Then, the sound stops and the character of Billy, played by Simon Longman, slowly points his fingers at the audience as if he is holding a gun.
BANG!
Now, what I did there was use the 'bang' to justify starting a new paragraph? Did you see that? Hey, I'm a student and sometimes like to mess with your mind (or, in this case, eyes) like that. One reviewer of this moment in the play said it was a bit GCSE. I'm paraphrasing but what annoyed me was how reductive this analysis was, both to the play and to GCSE drama, which is just as mixed, I'll grant you. If this was a fully professional production, you've got to wonder if it would get this same incisive analysis. No doubt the minimalist staging raised a few student-sceptical eyebrows. After all, them students, they love their empty stages don't they? Another review of the play got a bit too hung up on the scene where Scott Cooper (Edward Franklin), shoves a bottle up Billy's arse. Oooh how shocking, how visceral those students can be!! As a matter of fact, it was a particularly unpleasant moment in the play and well staged and finely acted by all concerned. But, because it was the students what did it, it seemed okay for someone to dwell on it, as if it's the point of the play, which it swiftly becomes if you make a big deal out of it.
The worst offender was the reviewer who suggested that the director of Herons was middle-class, patronising the black, urban underclass through his depiction of one of Scott's cronies, played by Ashley Gerlach. Leaving aside for one moment that Ashley was the second actor to play the part, after John Elliot (who was white) in its original Manchester performance, to refer to this as 'patronising' is insulting to Simon Stephens's writing and to student performances in general. Again, I'm pretty sure the reviewer was a student and there's that old self-consciousness again. Any quality, in some cases, seems to come second to what these students were trying to achieve, what they were trying to illustrate, unpack. Did they peel the onion of poverty and deprivation in the East End of London?
Do you know what other piece of drama I saw, a few days later, that also uses minimalist staging and uncomfortable depictions of urban poverty, primarily among black boys? The answer is 'The Wire'. I would be curious to see, if you put D'Angelo Barksdale on a red sofa in the middle of a stage with his cohorts, took David Simon's dialogue out of context and got a bunch of students to act it out, how long it would be before someone accused them of being patronising, or GCSE. Maybe no-one, maybe everyone would say that but the fact that students hypothetically performed it would open it up to that sort of criticism. This to me is unfair, since a lot of student drama is absolutely brilliant. Some of it is awful, but then so is a lot of professional drama. For instance, I can recall two performances of Shakespeare that I have seen, one recent and performed by students, the other in 2005 and headlining at Edinburgh, both of which I disliked. One, a version of 'Romeo and Juliet' didn't work, as they dropped characters, merged others and changed dialogue but there didn't seem to be any justification. The Edinburgh one was just...well I'll say 'witches in lycra' and leave it at that.
Herons itself was the third production I've seen directed by Clive Judd and, like its predecessors, it was a slow burning, well-acted and again illustrated the director's ability to make a good play out of a minimal set. Pale Horse used only a bar and some chairs and tables, All My Sons contained only some leaves and a bench and here the side of the canal was only some bricks. It was, however, all it needed.
Simon Longman's Billy may have been fourteen, he may have been seventeen but it some ways the physical age didn't matter because he was a child at heart, albeit one who had to look after his younger siblings and rage against his drunk mother rather than quietly fish for tench as he wanted to. His quiet demeanour and soft delivery were mixed with a capacity for fiercely defending those close to him, be it his mother or the girl whose murder was the violent prelude to the play. Ellie Rose, as Billy's mother, was a tragic figure, if only because she clearly cared for her son, but was a character completely incapable of taking care of children, her maternal instincts lost in physicality that reeked of drink and drugs. Similarly, Mark Weinman as the father was lost in his own world, annoyed at Billy whenever he dragged him out of his musings about herons eating his fish. Billy as a boy who had to grow up fast was re-enforced by the manner with which he gently had to look after his own dad, chiding him about jobs and attendance slips.
Edward Franklin's Scott Cooper made you want to see some Sopranos-esqe (ooh, French, very studenty) spin-off about his character. His moments of stage time were of a young boy who, again, could have been ten years older, warped as he was by his circumstances and an older brother who was in prison and perhaps ten times as psychotic. His sparring with Billy made for some of the tensest moments in the play and Longman's delivery of one particular comeback was received with rousing applause. Laurence Fox and the aforementioned Ashley Gerlach brought moments of black comic relief and nervous laughter from the audience but, in one entrance, made one mindful of the phrase 'feral youths'.
The character of Adele was the third, central character who wasn't allowed to be a child anymore. Her attempts at a carefree manner in dealing with loss and chaos around her was a marked contrast with Billy's acting as though the world were on his shoulders. Lisa Gill gave a spirited performance as a girl who was scared of her boyfriend one minute and then gently teasing Billy the next. Interspersed with calling her teacher a 'fat cunt' was more insightful and lovely dialogue about the tragedy that tied all the characters together and faking seizures. There was an especially touching moment in which she discovers she is a key character in Billy's diary entries.
All the performances were based on a script that was bleak and savage but also witty and hopeful, especially at its end. The casting left you wondering if the characters were adults in children's bodies and while it is obviously a cast that demands a young cast, the performances were such that the difference between adult and teenager was ambiguous and almost paradoxical. I think what Clive Judd has achieved with this, only the second performance of Herons, is that fourteen year olds are not a necessary part of staging a play about fourteen year olds; as long as they can convey this play's horribly thin line between the children and their equally clueless parents. The director and his actors should collaborate again, if only because these guys need another play to show off the talent which can only be built on after this production.
I think I managed to do that review without once mentioning the word 'student'. Which most of these guys were by the way.
"But James," I hear you ask. "How is this relevant to students? What can students get out of it?"
Well, isn't it obvious? They only used 25 bricks. 25 is like, such a symbolic number.
Monday 12 January 2009
Was Prince Harry being deliberately racist? More importantly, do we care?
I wasn't sure anything could top the moral outrage that followed the Jonathan Ross/Russell Brand recording that bizarrely swallowed up the headlines in October of 2008. It wasn't so much the moral outrage I had a problem with, I mean I can understand why you could be insulted by what those two did and yet I just thought it got blown spectacularly out of proportion. Maybe it's a side-effect of the generation I'm part of. After all, we young 'uns are meant to idolise Russell while our parents and grandparents sigh and tut and complain how Andrew Sachs was victimised by two overrated, overpaid prats who the BBC were previously afraid to discipline. Or, maybe it's that it actually did get blown spectacularly out of proportion. By that I mean that only two people were meant to have heard the actual, dreaded broadcast when it went out over the airwaves; it was only when The Mail on Sunday brought it to everyone else's attention a week later that the complaints rolled in. Most of these people were complaining much later about a broadcast they didn't even hear firsthand.
As I said at the beginning, I wasn't sure anything could top that. Until Prince Harry.
The story is quite similar. Prince Harry made remarks he shouldn't have made, it was filmed and then a tabloid newspaper leaked it. In this case, he called a fellow cadet in his Sandhurst training regiment 'our Paki friend' then went on to use the derogatory term 'raghead'.
What does this mean? In short, Prince Harry is an idiot. This isn't the first time he's been seen or heard doing or saying something inappropriate. It isn't the first time he's embarrassed the Royal Family. But, you can dismiss it each time by saying, very simply 'He's an idiot'. He's not the case for Why Britain should be a republic, nor is he a thug, nor does he hate the Islamic community. He's just an idiot. Prince Harry reminds me of people I went to school with and by that I mean people who had more money than sense. If anything, you feel sorry for the guy, as his tour of duty in the British Army seems to have taught him nothing about tact or, more importantly, tolerance.
Which brings me rather neatly on to my next point and the reason why the people baying for his blood have managed to trump His Royal Highness in the Idiocy stakes. You see, this tape was recorded three years ago. That's Christmas 2005 for anyone who can't do the maths. In that time, Harry has done a tour of duty in Afghanistan, taken up his mother's charity mantle and passed out of Sandhurst. He has changed as a person. Three years is a long time for anyone, but between the age of about 18 and 25, people tend to change a lot, be it at university or in the armed forces.
This, however, doesn't seem to be enough for The News of the World who, in another tabloid act of leaking something which is either really sensitive or really irrelevant, decided to take their readers on a step by step guide of every gaffe that Harry made. The bandwagon was then jumped on by the likes of the Ramadhan Foundation, whose spokeperson Mohammed Shafiq said he was 'deeply shocked and saddened' by the Prince's racism. While I can see Mr Shafiq's point of view, I again scream 'He's an idiot' and go on to mention that this kind of rhetorical nonsense is what blows such incidents out of proportion in the first place. You are deeply shocked and saddened when you hear news of a person serving in Afghanistan dying. Prince Harry was probably deeply shocked and saddened (we can imagine) at some point in his ten week tour of duty. After all, he is prone to making mistakes but he has demonstrated that he is not unfeeling.
The explanation is much simpler. Prince Harry was three years younger and apparently stupider than he is now and he recorded a video for amusement to pass the time. The video is representative of the somewhat stupid in-jokes amongst a group of friends in the Army. The boy about whom the comment was made, Ahmed Raza Khan, has wisely brushed it off as such and, three years later, got on with his life. So should a lot of other people.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
Welcome to 2009. Here's Fiona Bruce with why we're doomed
Recently, both the television and print media have come to remind me of two things. It's either Private Frazer from 'Dad's Army' (you know, the one who goes "we're all dooomed") or it's the Yorkshiremen from the Monty Python sketch, who are constantly trying to outdo one another with stories of how rough their upbringings were - 'You were lucky...'. There seems to be a daily game between all the papers and the four major news channels to see who can deliver the best analysis, the best forecast of just how bad things are going to get in light of this new recession. I'm glad it's a proper recession now. The term 'credit crunch' was starting to grate me, mainly because it sounded like a breakfast cereal that was really bland and had needed another flavour which children could enjoy; you know, like Choco-Credit Crunch, or Credit Crunch N Nuts.
I am not for one moment suggesting that the news should stop reporting on the economy. I for one like to know what is going on in the world around me. But I would like it if I could hear a bit of good news, or at least good news which isn't tainted with the institutionalised pessimism that has been rampant of late. For example, this past Saturday I read an article in The Times which said that John Lewis had seen a record turnover during their Christmas sale on the 27th December. The article then went onto warn, however that this would make no difference, that January and February would represent grim times for the whole High Street. Today, Marks and Spencers announced 1,000 job cuts. Not good news. Then the BBC news website hammered it home with, 'this will be seen as a sign of weakness on the High Street'. I'm sure it will, if only by the 1,000 people who will lose their jobs. And if the managers and shareholders of John Lewis wanted their parade rained on, they could just pop in their time travel machines and go back to last summer. Thirdly, Anne Robinson appeared on The Andrew Marr Show to re-iterate this, and to say, in her clipped Weakest Link tones, that this year, we all leave with nothing.
The depressed amongst us needn't worry however. Because the newspapers have anticipated the fact that we're all reaching into our drawers and pulled out our old service revolvers, or crushing some pills into a sale-bought Ikea tumbler filled with vodka. They've published some survival guides for 2009. The newspapers sell by first telling us how the recession will affect every aspect of life and then by giving things to make us feel better. The Daily Mail is the best at this; complaining about how Britain has gone to hell under the control of Labour and the Guardianistas then offering to help you shop cheaply in the new economic climate.
The economic climate also gives one a renewed appreciation of the skewed priorities of said newspapers i.e. covering pages with tales of economic woe alongside gripes over how Matt Smith's eleventh Doctor is too young for the part. Many of the articles written about the recession have been exercises in time travel - opinion columns have been tripping over themselves to compare this to the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and impart wisdom to Gordon Brown and Barack Obama about how they can or can't learn from Franklin Roosevelt.
The depression of the Thirties lasted for most of that decade. Current projections put this one at two years in length - the worst apparently since 1992. Oh dear God. I was expecting something more drastic, like 'since records began'.
Yes the global banking system nearly collapsed and yes 2009 will be a tough year. All I'm saying is, you might save a bit of money and possibly your own sanity if you stop reading about the recession and just concentrate on living through it.
I am not for one moment suggesting that the news should stop reporting on the economy. I for one like to know what is going on in the world around me. But I would like it if I could hear a bit of good news, or at least good news which isn't tainted with the institutionalised pessimism that has been rampant of late. For example, this past Saturday I read an article in The Times which said that John Lewis had seen a record turnover during their Christmas sale on the 27th December. The article then went onto warn, however that this would make no difference, that January and February would represent grim times for the whole High Street. Today, Marks and Spencers announced 1,000 job cuts. Not good news. Then the BBC news website hammered it home with, 'this will be seen as a sign of weakness on the High Street'. I'm sure it will, if only by the 1,000 people who will lose their jobs. And if the managers and shareholders of John Lewis wanted their parade rained on, they could just pop in their time travel machines and go back to last summer. Thirdly, Anne Robinson appeared on The Andrew Marr Show to re-iterate this, and to say, in her clipped Weakest Link tones, that this year, we all leave with nothing.
The depressed amongst us needn't worry however. Because the newspapers have anticipated the fact that we're all reaching into our drawers and pulled out our old service revolvers, or crushing some pills into a sale-bought Ikea tumbler filled with vodka. They've published some survival guides for 2009. The newspapers sell by first telling us how the recession will affect every aspect of life and then by giving things to make us feel better. The Daily Mail is the best at this; complaining about how Britain has gone to hell under the control of Labour and the Guardianistas then offering to help you shop cheaply in the new economic climate.
The economic climate also gives one a renewed appreciation of the skewed priorities of said newspapers i.e. covering pages with tales of economic woe alongside gripes over how Matt Smith's eleventh Doctor is too young for the part. Many of the articles written about the recession have been exercises in time travel - opinion columns have been tripping over themselves to compare this to the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and impart wisdom to Gordon Brown and Barack Obama about how they can or can't learn from Franklin Roosevelt.
The depression of the Thirties lasted for most of that decade. Current projections put this one at two years in length - the worst apparently since 1992. Oh dear God. I was expecting something more drastic, like 'since records began'.
Yes the global banking system nearly collapsed and yes 2009 will be a tough year. All I'm saying is, you might save a bit of money and possibly your own sanity if you stop reading about the recession and just concentrate on living through it.
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