So, The Apprentice is back for series six and when a long-running television show reaches its sixth run, chances are it's been around long enough that it is beginning to show age, it's formula perhaps in danger of becoming, well, formulaic. Long-serving stars are beginning to show their age, maybe the writing and the storylines are beginning to run out of steam. If you're talking about a reality television program, usually some knee-jerk change to the format needs to be made so the audience sits up and takes notice again. For example, the X Factor introduced live auditions, so that the crowd go cheer or jeer at prospective candidates, making already embarrassing/amazing auditions that bit worse/better.
Lord Alan Sugar began his sixth run of "the job interview from Hell" by having his candidates come to his office at midnight, and putting them straight to work. In times gone by, they'd get a chance to unwind at a barbecue, meet one another, make some wild claims about how they'd been in business since birth, at which point they'd sold their mother's amniotic fluid back to her for a tidy profit. Now, they have to do all that in the back of a car. I suppose it's a step up from Seralan, who started Amstrad "from the back of a van".
He's not called Seralan now though. It's Lord Sugar, and the fact that Gordon Brown didn't think such a peerage would lead to one of British business's leading figures sounding like a strip club in central Manchester, well, that's part of the fun.
Nick is back though, with his suitcase of amazing facial expressions. One day, I will throw a party and invite him, just so he can walk around looking generally confused and disapproving all night. Also, Margaret has been replaced by Karren Brady, who is perhaps even more of a cyborg than her predecessor. At one point Lord Sugar made a joke, and when she cackled.....
Sorry, back to the point. So, what about the candidates? Well, the first thing is that this is a recession themed series. This means that some of the people have been made redundant, lost money, or been unable to find work. People like Raleigh Addington, who constantly looks like he wants to burst into tears. When his parents name him Raleigh, I can't say I blame him.
The two main stars of Episode One, were Dan Harris, and of course Stuart Baggs. Stuart Baggs, the Brand. Everything he touches, turns to sold. Yes, he actually says these things. He runs his own telecoms company on the Isle of Man. Maybe he's a brand on the Isle of Man, and this is consequently why no one's heard of him when he says he's one of the most successful businessman "in the world". He doesn't have a glass ceiling. Yeah me neither Stuart. Maybe because it's a metaphor, for how women don't get paid enough, because they have to compete with irritating men, who have equally irritating hair cuts, like you. Yes you Stuart!
Anyway, after Lord Sugar has given them their task, which this week is to go out, make and sell their own sausages, the groups have to divide themselves into teams, or teeeems, as the narrator call them.
There is a boys' teeeem and a girls' teeeem. The girls' name themselves Apollo, because it makes you mindful of adventure, and discovery, and Apollo was the name of the first manned mission to the moon. I'm sure Armstrong, Aldrin and the other guy are all avid Apprentice fans too. Better than "Winning Women", which is either a gentrified escort agency or a book of dating tips.
The boys name themselves Synergy, THEN THEY APPLAUD THEMSELVES. That's right, they applaud themselves for naming their team. I hope to Christ none of these guys are ever in the delivery room when their wives give birth. I hope to Christ Stuart never procreates.
So it's off to Smithfield Meat Market, and here's where it gets appetising, if you'll pardon the pun. The boys opt for bargain sausages, whilst the girls go for gourmet sausages, or "gourmet, uh sausage territory" as Nick calls it.
Dan is the doomed leader of Synergy. As he says, he's "got no room for shirkers". Maybe he meant Gurkhas, or Sherpas. Joanna leads the girls, but Nick doesn't seem to think she's up to much. He makes expressions, then makes some caustic remarks outside.
"Honestly, it's just a shambles, actually it's irritating."
The first task is always the best, because you watch sixteen supposedly intelligent people just bugger up the simplest task. The girls get by alright, but the boys try to put rusks in the sausage mixture, so their bargain bangers just end up looking like poo. Also, none of the boys can negotiate, so the butchers who work at the market come across as having more business sense than the candidates. which they probably do anyway.
The boys still have no concept of irony/satire/the fact they're all idiots, as Dan proves when he asks "who is doing the mincing?".
Two of the boys giggle churlishly at the back - "wahey, he said mincing, he's a gayboy/bumder".
Meanwhile, over at the girls' factory, Melissa "Chuckles" Cohen, keeps calling sausages "sosarges". Nice.
So, then they go off to different parts of Lairndon, to sell their sausages. Stuart is in his element here, yelling at customers, even saying to one poor sod passing by "Excuse me sir, you look like a sausage conoisseur". He follows an old man down the street for about ten yards. Apparently he knows how to connect with people. Would that be on the telephone Stuart, when people can't see your face?
The girls sell their sausages first, the boys have to go door to door with theirs. Yes, door to door sausages. Morrisons are really missing a trick here.
The ladies sell theirs, mainly, by flirting with a chef, which seems to work out great. Then Melissa and Joanna fight over who gets to close the deal with him. Meanwhile, Nick just stands next to them, making some expressions. He shakes his head too.
They all have to be back in the boardroom for 5pm. This is like 24, only with meat packaging involved. When they're all sat down again, Lord Sugar emerges from what I'm going to call the anteroom, behind his chair. I've always wondered what's beyond that door behind his chair. Is the secret to his immortality back there? Does he watch his entire business empire from a control room, pressing buttons and generally being evil?
They introduce themselves, their team names, and their team leaders. When the girls explain their deep, complex reasons for choosing Apollo, Alan quips "Well, let's hope you're able to...get off the launch pad." Oh Lord Sugar, you're such a card. Nick also sticks his oar in at this point, saying "Stella and Elizabeth are hot...on the figures." Cheers for that Nick.
Turns out the girls won, so the boys are back tomorrow. Lord Sugar is tired you see, because waiting for sixteen people to come back from selling sausages is tiring work. So the girls go off to the House, where they're treated to a champagne barbecue. Meanwhile, the boys retreat to a cafe, where team leader Dan just proceeds to shout some more. It's always a cafe, isn't it? They never go to the pub. Or the dog tracks. Or just crash the other team's party, with a crate of WKD.
Next morning, the boys are up to head off to the boardroom. Stuart is so confident of his Not Being Fired, that he takes his suitcase, but doesn't pack anything in it.
Let's just clear this up. He doesn't leave his suitcase behind. No, he takes it, but leaves it empty. And goes to the trouble of telling a camera crew. So, if he did get fired, he would have to explain to a bemused cabbie that he's got his suitcase, but neglected to pack it. I do that all the time, for jokes, on my way to the airport.
Sorry, how many people did you fight off to get on the show Stuart?
As it turns out, the boys turn on Dan. Raleigh looks like he's going to cry at one point. Stuart does this ridiculous thing where he punctuates barbed comments with sips of water.
"How many sausages, DID you make, Dan?"
Alan fires Dan, then warns Nick and Karran that he won't put up with Stuart for much longer. That's code for he's a ratings winner and will be in it until week 8.
Next week, they have to sell beach equipment. It looks like the girls start to lose it next week. More of an Apollo 13 vibe then.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Monday, 4 October 2010
Mark Zuckerberg likes me too much, man
So, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, I left Facebook. I don't know why, my mouse just moved to the button that said "de-activate account". I wanted to know how it worked, if what they said about Facebook not quite ever letting you leave, was true.
You see, Facebook doesn't delete your account, it just saves it. Everything you've ever done, all the posts you've written, all the friends you've made, all the profile pictures you've changed and changed again, they all stay somewhere on the Internet, floating in somekind of cyber no-space. If a person tries to find you on Facebook, you're not there; it's like someone got a time machine and went back to the point where you opened your account, and just erased you from the history of the website. Leaving Facebook doesn't so much mean Facebook suicide, but more like Facebook cryogenic suspension. Should you return, it's like a reset button was pushed, your account and every person you've been in touch with, all are restored to you. Again, it's like some insidious, impersonal version of the end of It's A Wonderful Life, when James Stuart returns to the world as he knows it and goes running through the streets of Bedford Falls, screaming Merry Christmas at everyone he passes.
Facebook also seems to get very hurt when you leave. To use another analogy, if you and Facebook were a married couple who were separating, then the site essentially pulls the "but what about the children?" card on you. It shows you pictures of friends who will "miss" you if you leave. Then, you are required to give one of several possible reasons as to why you want to leave Facebook. For every reason, Facebook offers a plaintive response of how it can change to meet your needs, how any problem you have can be worked out.
You have to enter your password twice, because some cruel imposter could have logged on and removed you from Facebook. To be honest, if someone was posing as me, I would hope they could do something a bit more hi-tech and imaginative than just removing me from Facebook. Removing me from Facebook is much less fun than writing something silly on someone's status, "Facebook rape" as it's come to be called.
The most chilling part comes the next morning, when I switch my computer back on. I am thinking about job searching, what I am going to have for breakfast. Without realising it, I have gone back to the Facebook login page. It's just the first page I go to, like my brain is on auto-pilot. And when I get there, I can just log back into Facebook like I never left. It doesn't ask you to start again, doesn't put any obstacles in your way.
It turns out my head is wired to Facebook. I can go a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks, without checking it. But the idea that I could leave it forever is kind of strange. You think of all the people you could potentially lose touch with, then realise that you haven't spoken to those people in months. It just so happens that a page on the Internet gives you the feeling that you are in contact. This is what they call Facebook stalking, but it's often more idle than that. It's one version of that habit I think most of us now have, of idly flicking through pages on the Internet, not really doing anything, just looking at things, pictures, websites, random pieces of information. Youtube is not far behind Facebook in that regard.
I don't think it's a malevolent, or generally pre-meditated activity; our knowledge of what other people are doing is just an extension of the Internet age, like going on a news website, or online banking. There is now an interest in where people go on nights out, what their holidays look like, if they have made new friends. And, to be fair, the only thing equalled by the desire to know these things, is the desire on the part of the other person to share it. People can be discrete on Facebook, others can use it as a more blatant form of self-expression. Giving it up altogether is something entirely different.
You see, Facebook doesn't delete your account, it just saves it. Everything you've ever done, all the posts you've written, all the friends you've made, all the profile pictures you've changed and changed again, they all stay somewhere on the Internet, floating in somekind of cyber no-space. If a person tries to find you on Facebook, you're not there; it's like someone got a time machine and went back to the point where you opened your account, and just erased you from the history of the website. Leaving Facebook doesn't so much mean Facebook suicide, but more like Facebook cryogenic suspension. Should you return, it's like a reset button was pushed, your account and every person you've been in touch with, all are restored to you. Again, it's like some insidious, impersonal version of the end of It's A Wonderful Life, when James Stuart returns to the world as he knows it and goes running through the streets of Bedford Falls, screaming Merry Christmas at everyone he passes.
Facebook also seems to get very hurt when you leave. To use another analogy, if you and Facebook were a married couple who were separating, then the site essentially pulls the "but what about the children?" card on you. It shows you pictures of friends who will "miss" you if you leave. Then, you are required to give one of several possible reasons as to why you want to leave Facebook. For every reason, Facebook offers a plaintive response of how it can change to meet your needs, how any problem you have can be worked out.
You have to enter your password twice, because some cruel imposter could have logged on and removed you from Facebook. To be honest, if someone was posing as me, I would hope they could do something a bit more hi-tech and imaginative than just removing me from Facebook. Removing me from Facebook is much less fun than writing something silly on someone's status, "Facebook rape" as it's come to be called.
The most chilling part comes the next morning, when I switch my computer back on. I am thinking about job searching, what I am going to have for breakfast. Without realising it, I have gone back to the Facebook login page. It's just the first page I go to, like my brain is on auto-pilot. And when I get there, I can just log back into Facebook like I never left. It doesn't ask you to start again, doesn't put any obstacles in your way.
It turns out my head is wired to Facebook. I can go a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks, without checking it. But the idea that I could leave it forever is kind of strange. You think of all the people you could potentially lose touch with, then realise that you haven't spoken to those people in months. It just so happens that a page on the Internet gives you the feeling that you are in contact. This is what they call Facebook stalking, but it's often more idle than that. It's one version of that habit I think most of us now have, of idly flicking through pages on the Internet, not really doing anything, just looking at things, pictures, websites, random pieces of information. Youtube is not far behind Facebook in that regard.
I don't think it's a malevolent, or generally pre-meditated activity; our knowledge of what other people are doing is just an extension of the Internet age, like going on a news website, or online banking. There is now an interest in where people go on nights out, what their holidays look like, if they have made new friends. And, to be fair, the only thing equalled by the desire to know these things, is the desire on the part of the other person to share it. People can be discrete on Facebook, others can use it as a more blatant form of self-expression. Giving it up altogether is something entirely different.
Friday, 1 October 2010
George Lucas does Star Wars in 3-D: To quote Luke Skywalker, "That's not true....that's IMPOSSIBLE!"
You have to hand it to George Lucas, because he really is one of the most talented men in Hollywood. As well as giving the world three of the best, and three of the worst, movies of all time, he is also a pioneer of special effects, through his company Industrial Light and Magic. Perhaps most impressively of all, he is one of those few filmmakers who has managed to milk the same project for tonnes of money for over thirty years.
According to my count, the announced release of the Star Wars saga in 3-D will mark the fourth time the franchise has been re-worked, re-designed, the special effects updated. My own introducton to the Star Wars trilogy was when the Special Edition films were released in 1997, at the 20th anniversary of the original Star Wars film. Lucas rejigged the films again, for DVD release, in 2005 to make the old trilogy fit more seamlessly with its demented spawn, the new 'prequel' films, the final of which, Revenge of the Sith, was released in 2005.
In one sense, special effects for George Lucas represents something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, since he has always argued that he was waiting for special effects to catch up with his vision of Star Wars (this comes in the wake of the release of Spielberg's Jurassic Park in 1993).
This got me to thinking of the number of late 1970s, and early 1980s films which have had 20th, or 25th anniversary re-releases. These include Ridley Scott's Alien, along with its subsequent sequels, Steven Spielberg's E.T, Blade Runner (Scott again) and, this month, Back to the Future. Some of these have resulted in new edits of the films, some have just been to acknowledge anniversaries, as is the case with Back to the Future.
Star Wars is one of the first in those blockbusters that would come to define the early Eighties cinema, a sudden boom in action and adventure films, including E.T., the Indiana Jones films, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, The Terminator and Blade Runner. Along with Lucas's follow-ups in the Star Wars trilogy, the films of the Eighties mark a new corporate, blockbuster era, where the franchise and the sequel become more prevalent, and where films become more effect driven.
Some of what I will write here needs a bit more thought, but what struck me about this era of films is, firstly, how they seemed to represent a nice synthesis between character, story and effects and, secondly, how there is a certain cultural irony to the fact that, in some of the films I have outlined above, their narrative concern is with the progress of technology in a filmmaking era driven by new technology.
First, let's look at Star Wars as an example. I have heard a friend of mine say on several occasions that the Star Wars films are not science fiction, they are fantasy. This is certainly true, since the story of Luke Skywalker is heavily indebted to old English legends of King Arthur, and Beowulf: a boy plucked out of obscurity to become the saviour of a tribe, a country, in this case a whole galaxy. Furthermore, Lucas owes much to Japanese cinema, such as YoJimbo and even World War Two action films.
Importantly, space in the trilogy is not a frontier of scientific exploration; much like Arthurian legend, it is a place of untold and untapped magic. The Force, as it is described in the films, binds the universe together, and with the Jedi being those 'worthy' enough to harness it.
Technology in Lucas's first trilogy is associated with the scientific, the secular, and the destructive. It is the Empire who are superior in terms of technological advancement, with the Death Star representing the ultimate example of mass destruction, with its ability to wipe out whole planets. Technology for the Rebels, the 'good guys' of the narrative, is frequently dirty, dusty, broken, and often works against the odds. The Millenium Falcon, is notable for its enclosed spaces, its defective technology, its pilots Han Solo and Chewbacca, engineers who work with their hands. Meanwhile, technology for the Empire is technology for its own sake, an endless display of power. When the story introduces the Emperor in Return of the Jedi, he is a master of the dark side of the Force, power for its own sake, supported by an alienating technological empire. The world of Star Wars, like so many realms in the modern American film, is cut off from its own history. Harrison Ford's Solo is one example of a person who has lost touch with the idea of the Force, a non-believer who must ultimately be saved by Luke's abilities. Similarly, the Jedi are an extinct religion, by the time the first film begins.
Ridley Scott's Blade Runner also uses technology as an allegory. Where Lucas's science fiction is more mythical, more fantastic, the Replicants in Scott's film represent something of an ontological challenge: what makes a human a human? Is it flesh, or memory, or feeling? Can beings designed to mimic humans, actually think, feel and love like humans? The lone private detective of the film noir is given a science fiction twist, since Deckard (Harrison Ford again) is not only an outsider in 21st century Los Angeles, but may also be an outsider to the human race; debate rages over whether Deckard is a Replicant or not. The vision of the future presented by Blade Runner is corporate where Lucas's universe is imperial. The brain behind the Replicants is Elden Tyrell, the owner of the Tyrell Corporation, enshrined within a building which is the pinnacle of a hyper-industrial city. The poor are forced to live out life in a society divided by technology; other parts of LA are also claustrophobic where the Tyrell building is spacious, buildings broken down and dilapidated. Robots are slaves, subaltern, exiled from human society. Yet the world of Blade Runner shares the Star Wars idea of a space, a realm beyond what can be perceived by the technological. The history of the world, as originally portrayed in Philip K. Dick's novel To Robots Dream of Electric Sheep is always present, pressing against the boundaries of the film. Where the Force is the unknown element, for Blade Runner, the fantastic is portrayed by Rutger Hauer's Roy, a Replicant who, in his final moments, describes his experiences in the space beyond the known world - "attack ships on fire off the shoulders of Orion [...] I watched c-beams, glitter in the dark near Tannhauser Gate". Memory for the Replicants is a precious commodity, the thing which makes them human, but lost in the rain of the American city.
The alien, the idea of outer space, is also a thing of wonder in Spielberg's films. For the characters of E.T., space is an unseen realm just beyond the reach of a troubled suburbia. E.T. lands in a world where adults cannot be trusted, they are either absent, like Elliot's father, in need of care themselves, like Elliot's mother, or merely exploitative, like the scientists who come looking for E.T. The audience never sees the other aliens of E.T.'s race: they are merely bright lights and silhouettes in the middle of the night.
Time and time travel are used to explore aspects of Eighties urban America in films of this era. Los Angeles is used as a setting for The Terminator but what is depicted in James Cameron's first seminal film, is two versions of the same space. LA in 1984 is constantly juxtaposed with LA in 2029. The noise of a building site makes Michael Biehn's Kyle Reese dream of the future where human bodies are raked, and disposed of, by the sentient machines. The Terminator is constantly framed against the backdrop of seemingly innocuous pieces of machinery; the answer machine in Sarah Connor's flat, the factory where Schwarzenegger's Terminator is finally destroyed. Once again, questions of fate, free will versus pre-determined circumstance, are explored in the film. Reese must travel back in time to father his own son, bringing into question boundaries of the past, the present and the future. Contemporary America is, according to the title card which opens the film, a battleground for the survival of the human race. History in America is in flux, capable of change at any moment.
There is an anxiety in these films, about what cannot be seen, or cannot be known, events beyond the control of the characters. When Reese explains the history of the future to Sarah, it is chilling because the viewer is left to imagine the horror that is to come. Returning to Star Wars, Darth Vader is such a fascinating villain for the film because his origin is steeped in mystery. The original film is at its best when it leaves some aspects of its own history to the imagination. Vader, famously, was once Anakin Skywalker, a figure who is depicted as principled, a great leader, even more heroic than Luke himself, until his eventual corruption. The brief glimpse we do have of Anakin is of a man twisted by machinery and it is a great moment because it is so brief.
Eighties films have ultimately the same goals as films of the 2000s i.e. to make money, to entertain, to create successful merchandising. I am not suggesting that the blockbuster films of the Eighties had a nobler artistic vision, or were attempting to make a cultural statement which is somehow lacking in their present day counterparts. Yet the wave of big budget, effects driven films of this era had a sense of wonder, fuelled by compelling stories, characters that you found yourself caring about. The original Star Wars trilogy was groundbreaking in terms of special effects, yet there was still a 'less is more' feeling to them. Lucas and his production team seemed to be more innovative while they were waiting for technology to catch up - the Falcon is one of the most recognisable and distinctive space ships, the image of the Death Star blowing up, the noise of the TIE fighters, all of these are lovely touches in films that were, in 1982, already visually and conceptually rich. George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Ridley Scott and James Cameron, all were already guilty of taking old stories, myths and narratives, and reworking them in a new era of high-concept films.
It is when technology does catch up with Lucas that you get his next phase in filmmaking. In 1999, Episode I of the Star Wars saga was released, and fans were treated to the long-awaited beginning of one of the greatest sagas ever devised. Just before that, he had released the original trilogy with new effects. The problem with Lucas's updates is, when you hear him discuss them, it's rather like listening to a person with OCD tell you how much they've cleaned their living room, especially if they've done it to the extent that Lucas has "cleaned up" the Star Wars films.
The new trilogy is pretty much a thundering disappointment; it effectively ruins all the mystique of the original films. The delineated characters and simple plots are gone. The producers can't seem to make their minds up about what kind of films they want to make. The later films are part political intrigue, part action, but can't do either very well.
Most of all, those special effects that made the old films so magical have become a kind of technological excess, with every moment of the new films becoming almost an overload for the senses. Nothing is low key, and the wooden characters interact in front of overly glossy landscapes. The capital city of the Old Republic is like Ridley Scott's LA, without the atmosphere. The new films are meant to chart the rise of the Empire, but it is hard to care when the old world is not that different from what will come to replace it; the technology is so advanced and the characters so two-dimensional, that the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the destruction of the Jedi passes you by.
The gift that Lucas gives to the post-millenial action film is the obsession with the effect; this is synonymous with the rise of the prequel, the reboot, the origin story as a way for studios to cash in on already successful formats. All that can be seen, when you think of some of the big budget films of the last decade. James Bond, Spiderman, Batman, Superman, the X-Men, all have been turned into franchises, or had their franchises re-invented. One-off commercial films like The Matrix and Pirates of the Caribbean, become franchises in their own right.
In literature, it is often thought theorised by academics such as Fredric Jameson, David Harvey and Patricia Waugh, that the postmodern begins when writers become aware of, and begin to experiment with, the artifice of the novels that they are writing. Is there then a similar awareness developing within Hollywood, since films, and filmmakers, are suddenly becoming more aware of the medium through which narratives are consumed. The era of high definition, and three-dimensional cinema is synonymous with the prequel because suddenly the audience member knows and sees everything. Prequel and origin films are predicated on the idea that the viewer knows how the story will end before it has begun. The viewer is allowed a wry smile when Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne testdrives the Batmobile for example. The mystery and wonder seems to have diminished, because there is an excess of it.
This reaches is peak when one consider's Avatar. Through the power of the the three-dimensional avatars, the audience sees everything (we imagine) as Sam Worthington's commando sees it. The visual perceptions of the characters, and the visual perceptions of the audience, become one and the same. As the film comes out of the screen, so the viewer climbs into it. As these films become more 'real', DVD extras and 3-D advertising paradoxically provide us with a greater insight than ever into the artifice of the film: "how it's made" is part of the marketing of every film, since the knowledge you are watching 3-D means you are willing, if not expected, to pay more money.
If we talk about "special effects" then, are we in danger of using an outmoded phrase? In one sense, the effect is no longer 'special' since it is part and parcel of most modern films; similarly effect is no longer a reliable signifier. "Effect" suggests an afterthought, a touch of magic to better illustrate a story. Cinema is instead perhaps a fuller 'experience'; the effect has become the selling point of the film, to a whole new degree.
Yet Avatar was also lacking that compelling script, the memorable characters. Like Lucas's later projects, the emphasis was on visual saturation, not narrative drive.
That said, Disney Pixar has done some spectacular films, with charming stories, in 3-D. Whimsical and endearing characters are the hallmarks of the Toy Story films and Up! It is possible for 3-d to offer compelling stories. Perhaps it would be more interesting if George Lucas's imagination now moved to catch up with technology and he tried to do something new.
According to my count, the announced release of the Star Wars saga in 3-D will mark the fourth time the franchise has been re-worked, re-designed, the special effects updated. My own introducton to the Star Wars trilogy was when the Special Edition films were released in 1997, at the 20th anniversary of the original Star Wars film. Lucas rejigged the films again, for DVD release, in 2005 to make the old trilogy fit more seamlessly with its demented spawn, the new 'prequel' films, the final of which, Revenge of the Sith, was released in 2005.
In one sense, special effects for George Lucas represents something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, since he has always argued that he was waiting for special effects to catch up with his vision of Star Wars (this comes in the wake of the release of Spielberg's Jurassic Park in 1993).
This got me to thinking of the number of late 1970s, and early 1980s films which have had 20th, or 25th anniversary re-releases. These include Ridley Scott's Alien, along with its subsequent sequels, Steven Spielberg's E.T, Blade Runner (Scott again) and, this month, Back to the Future. Some of these have resulted in new edits of the films, some have just been to acknowledge anniversaries, as is the case with Back to the Future.
Star Wars is one of the first in those blockbusters that would come to define the early Eighties cinema, a sudden boom in action and adventure films, including E.T., the Indiana Jones films, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, The Terminator and Blade Runner. Along with Lucas's follow-ups in the Star Wars trilogy, the films of the Eighties mark a new corporate, blockbuster era, where the franchise and the sequel become more prevalent, and where films become more effect driven.
Some of what I will write here needs a bit more thought, but what struck me about this era of films is, firstly, how they seemed to represent a nice synthesis between character, story and effects and, secondly, how there is a certain cultural irony to the fact that, in some of the films I have outlined above, their narrative concern is with the progress of technology in a filmmaking era driven by new technology.
First, let's look at Star Wars as an example. I have heard a friend of mine say on several occasions that the Star Wars films are not science fiction, they are fantasy. This is certainly true, since the story of Luke Skywalker is heavily indebted to old English legends of King Arthur, and Beowulf: a boy plucked out of obscurity to become the saviour of a tribe, a country, in this case a whole galaxy. Furthermore, Lucas owes much to Japanese cinema, such as YoJimbo and even World War Two action films.
Importantly, space in the trilogy is not a frontier of scientific exploration; much like Arthurian legend, it is a place of untold and untapped magic. The Force, as it is described in the films, binds the universe together, and with the Jedi being those 'worthy' enough to harness it.
Technology in Lucas's first trilogy is associated with the scientific, the secular, and the destructive. It is the Empire who are superior in terms of technological advancement, with the Death Star representing the ultimate example of mass destruction, with its ability to wipe out whole planets. Technology for the Rebels, the 'good guys' of the narrative, is frequently dirty, dusty, broken, and often works against the odds. The Millenium Falcon, is notable for its enclosed spaces, its defective technology, its pilots Han Solo and Chewbacca, engineers who work with their hands. Meanwhile, technology for the Empire is technology for its own sake, an endless display of power. When the story introduces the Emperor in Return of the Jedi, he is a master of the dark side of the Force, power for its own sake, supported by an alienating technological empire. The world of Star Wars, like so many realms in the modern American film, is cut off from its own history. Harrison Ford's Solo is one example of a person who has lost touch with the idea of the Force, a non-believer who must ultimately be saved by Luke's abilities. Similarly, the Jedi are an extinct religion, by the time the first film begins.
Ridley Scott's Blade Runner also uses technology as an allegory. Where Lucas's science fiction is more mythical, more fantastic, the Replicants in Scott's film represent something of an ontological challenge: what makes a human a human? Is it flesh, or memory, or feeling? Can beings designed to mimic humans, actually think, feel and love like humans? The lone private detective of the film noir is given a science fiction twist, since Deckard (Harrison Ford again) is not only an outsider in 21st century Los Angeles, but may also be an outsider to the human race; debate rages over whether Deckard is a Replicant or not. The vision of the future presented by Blade Runner is corporate where Lucas's universe is imperial. The brain behind the Replicants is Elden Tyrell, the owner of the Tyrell Corporation, enshrined within a building which is the pinnacle of a hyper-industrial city. The poor are forced to live out life in a society divided by technology; other parts of LA are also claustrophobic where the Tyrell building is spacious, buildings broken down and dilapidated. Robots are slaves, subaltern, exiled from human society. Yet the world of Blade Runner shares the Star Wars idea of a space, a realm beyond what can be perceived by the technological. The history of the world, as originally portrayed in Philip K. Dick's novel To Robots Dream of Electric Sheep is always present, pressing against the boundaries of the film. Where the Force is the unknown element, for Blade Runner, the fantastic is portrayed by Rutger Hauer's Roy, a Replicant who, in his final moments, describes his experiences in the space beyond the known world - "attack ships on fire off the shoulders of Orion [...] I watched c-beams, glitter in the dark near Tannhauser Gate". Memory for the Replicants is a precious commodity, the thing which makes them human, but lost in the rain of the American city.
The alien, the idea of outer space, is also a thing of wonder in Spielberg's films. For the characters of E.T., space is an unseen realm just beyond the reach of a troubled suburbia. E.T. lands in a world where adults cannot be trusted, they are either absent, like Elliot's father, in need of care themselves, like Elliot's mother, or merely exploitative, like the scientists who come looking for E.T. The audience never sees the other aliens of E.T.'s race: they are merely bright lights and silhouettes in the middle of the night.
Time and time travel are used to explore aspects of Eighties urban America in films of this era. Los Angeles is used as a setting for The Terminator but what is depicted in James Cameron's first seminal film, is two versions of the same space. LA in 1984 is constantly juxtaposed with LA in 2029. The noise of a building site makes Michael Biehn's Kyle Reese dream of the future where human bodies are raked, and disposed of, by the sentient machines. The Terminator is constantly framed against the backdrop of seemingly innocuous pieces of machinery; the answer machine in Sarah Connor's flat, the factory where Schwarzenegger's Terminator is finally destroyed. Once again, questions of fate, free will versus pre-determined circumstance, are explored in the film. Reese must travel back in time to father his own son, bringing into question boundaries of the past, the present and the future. Contemporary America is, according to the title card which opens the film, a battleground for the survival of the human race. History in America is in flux, capable of change at any moment.
There is an anxiety in these films, about what cannot be seen, or cannot be known, events beyond the control of the characters. When Reese explains the history of the future to Sarah, it is chilling because the viewer is left to imagine the horror that is to come. Returning to Star Wars, Darth Vader is such a fascinating villain for the film because his origin is steeped in mystery. The original film is at its best when it leaves some aspects of its own history to the imagination. Vader, famously, was once Anakin Skywalker, a figure who is depicted as principled, a great leader, even more heroic than Luke himself, until his eventual corruption. The brief glimpse we do have of Anakin is of a man twisted by machinery and it is a great moment because it is so brief.
Eighties films have ultimately the same goals as films of the 2000s i.e. to make money, to entertain, to create successful merchandising. I am not suggesting that the blockbuster films of the Eighties had a nobler artistic vision, or were attempting to make a cultural statement which is somehow lacking in their present day counterparts. Yet the wave of big budget, effects driven films of this era had a sense of wonder, fuelled by compelling stories, characters that you found yourself caring about. The original Star Wars trilogy was groundbreaking in terms of special effects, yet there was still a 'less is more' feeling to them. Lucas and his production team seemed to be more innovative while they were waiting for technology to catch up - the Falcon is one of the most recognisable and distinctive space ships, the image of the Death Star blowing up, the noise of the TIE fighters, all of these are lovely touches in films that were, in 1982, already visually and conceptually rich. George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Ridley Scott and James Cameron, all were already guilty of taking old stories, myths and narratives, and reworking them in a new era of high-concept films.
It is when technology does catch up with Lucas that you get his next phase in filmmaking. In 1999, Episode I of the Star Wars saga was released, and fans were treated to the long-awaited beginning of one of the greatest sagas ever devised. Just before that, he had released the original trilogy with new effects. The problem with Lucas's updates is, when you hear him discuss them, it's rather like listening to a person with OCD tell you how much they've cleaned their living room, especially if they've done it to the extent that Lucas has "cleaned up" the Star Wars films.
The new trilogy is pretty much a thundering disappointment; it effectively ruins all the mystique of the original films. The delineated characters and simple plots are gone. The producers can't seem to make their minds up about what kind of films they want to make. The later films are part political intrigue, part action, but can't do either very well.
Most of all, those special effects that made the old films so magical have become a kind of technological excess, with every moment of the new films becoming almost an overload for the senses. Nothing is low key, and the wooden characters interact in front of overly glossy landscapes. The capital city of the Old Republic is like Ridley Scott's LA, without the atmosphere. The new films are meant to chart the rise of the Empire, but it is hard to care when the old world is not that different from what will come to replace it; the technology is so advanced and the characters so two-dimensional, that the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the destruction of the Jedi passes you by.
The gift that Lucas gives to the post-millenial action film is the obsession with the effect; this is synonymous with the rise of the prequel, the reboot, the origin story as a way for studios to cash in on already successful formats. All that can be seen, when you think of some of the big budget films of the last decade. James Bond, Spiderman, Batman, Superman, the X-Men, all have been turned into franchises, or had their franchises re-invented. One-off commercial films like The Matrix and Pirates of the Caribbean, become franchises in their own right.
In literature, it is often thought theorised by academics such as Fredric Jameson, David Harvey and Patricia Waugh, that the postmodern begins when writers become aware of, and begin to experiment with, the artifice of the novels that they are writing. Is there then a similar awareness developing within Hollywood, since films, and filmmakers, are suddenly becoming more aware of the medium through which narratives are consumed. The era of high definition, and three-dimensional cinema is synonymous with the prequel because suddenly the audience member knows and sees everything. Prequel and origin films are predicated on the idea that the viewer knows how the story will end before it has begun. The viewer is allowed a wry smile when Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne testdrives the Batmobile for example. The mystery and wonder seems to have diminished, because there is an excess of it.
This reaches is peak when one consider's Avatar. Through the power of the the three-dimensional avatars, the audience sees everything (we imagine) as Sam Worthington's commando sees it. The visual perceptions of the characters, and the visual perceptions of the audience, become one and the same. As the film comes out of the screen, so the viewer climbs into it. As these films become more 'real', DVD extras and 3-D advertising paradoxically provide us with a greater insight than ever into the artifice of the film: "how it's made" is part of the marketing of every film, since the knowledge you are watching 3-D means you are willing, if not expected, to pay more money.
If we talk about "special effects" then, are we in danger of using an outmoded phrase? In one sense, the effect is no longer 'special' since it is part and parcel of most modern films; similarly effect is no longer a reliable signifier. "Effect" suggests an afterthought, a touch of magic to better illustrate a story. Cinema is instead perhaps a fuller 'experience'; the effect has become the selling point of the film, to a whole new degree.
Yet Avatar was also lacking that compelling script, the memorable characters. Like Lucas's later projects, the emphasis was on visual saturation, not narrative drive.
That said, Disney Pixar has done some spectacular films, with charming stories, in 3-D. Whimsical and endearing characters are the hallmarks of the Toy Story films and Up! It is possible for 3-d to offer compelling stories. Perhaps it would be more interesting if George Lucas's imagination now moved to catch up with technology and he tried to do something new.
Friday, 17 September 2010
Someone fetch the Pope a warm milk and some cookies, he's feeling marginalised.
So, according to the Pope, Christianity is being marginalised across the world. To quote from his Glasgow speech:
"as we reflect on the sobering lessons of the atheist extremism of the twentieth century, let us never forget how the exclusion of God, religion and virtue from public life leads ultimately to a truncated vision of man and of society and thus to a 'reductive vision of the person and his destiny" (BBC News website, 2010)
Yes, I feel sorry for the Pope, what with the fact that he gets to live in Vatican City, which is a small, self-contained Christian, city nation. I feel sorry for him with his Pope-mobile, I feel sorry for him with his white, flowing ceremonial robes. I feel sorry for him because when he grins, you can suddenly imagine him as a clown at a six year olds' birthday party, wherein a room of small mites have suddenly burst into tears.
The Pope's visit was historic, according to several media accounts. It may have been, but it wasn't Iraq War historic, it wasn't Coalition government historic; it was smaller than that. He gave a few speeches, blessed a few babies, beatified someone, apologised for a legacy of child abuse within the Catholic Church then got into Thunderbird Pope and went home. I also say it wasn't a historic event because, well, that seems to be what some of his critics are saying too. One Mary Hewson was quoted as being worried about the £1.5m cost of the UK visit, saying
"I'm not a Catholic, I'm Church of England and I couldn't do anything without my faith, but I object to the cost of this event and the inconvenience."
So the Pope's visit is either a historic landmark, or a waste of taxpayer's money, or its both -and Mary Hewson is Christian. According to David Cameron, the Pope has made everyone sit up and think. (Cut to shot of a family sitting up and thinking). Cameron is right, insofar as the Pope's visit has re-awakened, or given new fire to, a religion/secularity debate. But, the "waste of taxpayer's money" argument is a boring and very British complaint. I could argue that I don't want the Pope coming here because he's a endemically homophobic, anti-feminist, anti-contraception and anti-abortion. I could, if I wanted to, also argue that I resent my taxpayers' money being spent on benefits for a person who holds any, or all of those views. He might be Catholic, he might not be. You might question the sanity of someone who shows up in the pouring rain to see the Pope speak. I might question the sanity of someone who did the same to see U2 or Madonna play at a big concert of festival (think Live Earth or Glastonbury)
I happen to know a few U2/Madonna fans, and I already feel a bit sanctimonious for having knocked them to prove a point. But that is exactly what some of the 'protesters' of the Pope have been guilty of. Such celebrity exponents include Christopher Hitchens and Stephen Fry; I have a lot of respect for the latter, but his over-enthusiastic Twitter following is becoming irritating. My example of just how smug the secularist camp can be is below
http://freethinker.co.uk/2009/10/20/catholic-church-humiliated-by-fry-and-hitchens-in-an-historic-london-debate/
This website offers a commentary of a debate last year, wherein Hitchens and Fry were in attendance; the commentary is fairly crowing. My personal favourite, I shall copy and paste below. CH refers to Christopher Hitchens, PB refers to Peter Brietbart, a contributor to the Freethinker website from which this is drawn.
"as we reflect on the sobering lessons of the atheist extremism of the twentieth century, let us never forget how the exclusion of God, religion and virtue from public life leads ultimately to a truncated vision of man and of society and thus to a 'reductive vision of the person and his destiny" (BBC News website, 2010)
Yes, I feel sorry for the Pope, what with the fact that he gets to live in Vatican City, which is a small, self-contained Christian, city nation. I feel sorry for him with his Pope-mobile, I feel sorry for him with his white, flowing ceremonial robes. I feel sorry for him because when he grins, you can suddenly imagine him as a clown at a six year olds' birthday party, wherein a room of small mites have suddenly burst into tears.
The Pope's visit was historic, according to several media accounts. It may have been, but it wasn't Iraq War historic, it wasn't Coalition government historic; it was smaller than that. He gave a few speeches, blessed a few babies, beatified someone, apologised for a legacy of child abuse within the Catholic Church then got into Thunderbird Pope and went home. I also say it wasn't a historic event because, well, that seems to be what some of his critics are saying too. One Mary Hewson was quoted as being worried about the £1.5m cost of the UK visit, saying
"I'm not a Catholic, I'm Church of England and I couldn't do anything without my faith, but I object to the cost of this event and the inconvenience."
So the Pope's visit is either a historic landmark, or a waste of taxpayer's money, or its both -and Mary Hewson is Christian. According to David Cameron, the Pope has made everyone sit up and think. (Cut to shot of a family sitting up and thinking). Cameron is right, insofar as the Pope's visit has re-awakened, or given new fire to, a religion/secularity debate. But, the "waste of taxpayer's money" argument is a boring and very British complaint. I could argue that I don't want the Pope coming here because he's a endemically homophobic, anti-feminist, anti-contraception and anti-abortion. I could, if I wanted to, also argue that I resent my taxpayers' money being spent on benefits for a person who holds any, or all of those views. He might be Catholic, he might not be. You might question the sanity of someone who shows up in the pouring rain to see the Pope speak. I might question the sanity of someone who did the same to see U2 or Madonna play at a big concert of festival (think Live Earth or Glastonbury)
I happen to know a few U2/Madonna fans, and I already feel a bit sanctimonious for having knocked them to prove a point. But that is exactly what some of the 'protesters' of the Pope have been guilty of. Such celebrity exponents include Christopher Hitchens and Stephen Fry; I have a lot of respect for the latter, but his over-enthusiastic Twitter following is becoming irritating. My example of just how smug the secularist camp can be is below
http://freethinker.co.uk/2009/10/20/catholic-church-humiliated-by-fry-and-hitchens-in-an-historic-london-debate/
This website offers a commentary of a debate last year, wherein Hitchens and Fry were in attendance; the commentary is fairly crowing. My personal favourite, I shall copy and paste below. CH refers to Christopher Hitchens, PB refers to Peter Brietbart, a contributor to the Freethinker website from which this is drawn.
PB: If all writings from throughout human history were to be destroyed, and you could choose to save the writings of a single author, who would you choose, and why
CH: That’s a very good question. Well, here’s what I would look for. I’d look for the author from which you could reconstruct the work of many, many other writers because of references, quotations, allusions that one is supposed to get.
PB: That’s a cunning answer. Very tactical.
CH: Yes, well, that would put Shakespeare very high, for example. From that there’s a great deal of Biblical stuff, classical, Italian renaissance, history, mythology … there’s a huge amount of other learning in it. I don’t think there’s any other writer of bodies of canon in that way. So from that we could work out quite a lot about what we were before, as a species. But for that reason, not because of it’s extraordinary beauty and wisdom. Otherwise it would be Darwin. It would have to be Darwin. His work, too, is full of great references, and teaches us a great deal about the natural world. He was a literary type.
PB: Ah, I had hoped you might say Darwin. That might just be my choice, too.
PB: Next, what can we do, as individuals or groups, to further the cause -if you can call it that- of reason and unbelief?
CH: Well, it may sound like a religious, or confessional answer, but you have to start with yourself. We all have to overcome our own irrationalities and superstitions first. That’s a lifetime of education, and it’s worth having. I try and do it everyday. I expose myself to other people’s opinions, writings and so forth, so that’s the main thing. Oh, and if you do well enough, you might just get asked your opinion.
The other thing is not to give anything the go-by. You have to get up and say no when someone suggests there should be a tax break for churches, or that the bishops should sit in the House of Lords, or anything like it. Oppose anything that trespasses on the secular line of the separation of church and state, because civilization begins where the separation of church and state begins. There are no exceptions to that in any country. So it’s in the general interest, as well as your own, that we patrol that line with great vigilance.
PB: It’s been a pleasure. Thank-you.
CH: You’re very welcome!
Mr Brietbart is not that much older than me, but even he can't be accredited with 'freethinking' since he just seems to spend the majority of the interview agreeing with what Hitchens says. Hitchens cites Shakespeare as that writer he would salvage, and Darwin of course. His use of Shakespeare is interesting, since Shakespeare's literature is steeped in the Biblical, classical, Renaissance literature that preceded, and surrounded him. Religion, when its being so vehemently criticised, is sometimes completely divorced from the histories and cultures through which it has endured. Religion in today's society is painted as the domain of the ignorant and the stupid, especially when you have Hitchens and Fry on your panel, both of whom are Oxford and Cambridge educated. A lot of what is taught in the English departments of universities of places like Oxford and Cambridge wouldn't exist were it not for the role played by religion, even Cambridge itself was founded by a bishop. Dante is one medieval example. His Comedy is an amazing poem in three parts, made perhaps even more so because it is religious, albeit a religious poem that attempts to understand the contradictions within the Christianity of 13th and 14th centuries. You wouldn't have elements of art, architecture, music, poetry without religion.
If you want a Catholic perspective on events, look at this alternative view of the Pope's (then forthcoming) visit
http://archive.catholicherald.co.uk/features/f0000574.shtml
To clarify, I do not agree with a majority of the Catholic Church's teachings. Maybe because the teaching in all the other subjects I took at school was good enough that I was educated to be fairly critical of Catholic doctrines, maybe because I resented being forced to go to non-credited RE lessons, where our chaplain would try to convince us that the Bible could have happened. When talking to religious people, it's sometimes frustrating to try and divorce them from deeply held beliefs, until you realise you're showing that same intransigence yourself, in a way. The idea that religion is responsible for atrocities in a way that secularism is not, is a narrow and counter-productive argument.
True, wars fought in the name of religion are probably too numerous to mention: however in a post-Enlightenment age, wars have since been fought for even shallower reasons: for weapons of mass destruction, in the name of 'the balance of power', or 'living space' or because one country had a treaty with another. The last priest who served as a chaplain at my school got a lot of flack, mainly because he was held onto a faith that seemed to some, at best, outdated and at worst, bigoted. But he never lost his temper, or his patience, with teenagers who, with the benefit of five years hindsight, might have seemed pretty self-assured and smug because they had an excellent private education and were about to go off to good universities. I try not to ignore people who stop me in the street to talk about their religion, if only because they seem interested in talking to you. A few weeks ago, some Chinese students asked to tell me a Bible story on my doorstep. Again, they were perfectly friendly. The Christian Union at my university gave me squash and biscuits whilst they explained the difference between the Old and New Testament to me.
Catholicism needs to join the twenty first century in many ways. Also, the Pope should get a better PR team (I think I can recommend two lads actually), if his speeches are going to compare atheism to Nazism in a country that fought the latter so completely, and where the monarch is, importantly, still the head of the Church. He also conveniently forgot to mention that the Catholic Church signed a Concordat with Hitler wherein the Fuhrer agreed to leave the Catholic Church in Germany alone. The Catholic Church is like NewsCorp, or the Republican Party, or the BBC, other powerful institutions, in that it looks, nay it is, fairly corrupt from the top downwards. The reported cases of child abuse are starting to look terrfyingly widespread - they have that in common with the MP expenses scandal, which was more trivial, but seemed to receive twice the media coverage.
Both sides in this week's visit have come out with some fairly ill-thought out comments, or have re-iterated old views, or at least made me want to look up the different sides of the debate a bit more. Evan Harris in the Guardian, gives a fairly nice clarification of the differences between religion, secularism and atheism. It's worth a look, if anything. http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/belief/2010/sep/18/secularist-manifesto-secularism
Perhaps, if you want an example of the differences between how real faith can bolster a person sometimes, look at the President of the United States. If you want an example of how it can turn you into a bigoted, close-minded, homophobe, look at some of the people in the Tea Party who would call themselves his opposition....but that's for another time.
Friday, 16 July 2010
Taking stock of the Conservative Party, or as I shall now call them "The Boring Old Men with Piles" Party
The Conservative/Lib Dem era is now upon us, and for the first time, I think I understood how their PR and media policy is going to work. Option One, when unveiling a sweeping new initiative, is to bring on a nervous, stuttering Lib Dem to announce that "No, no this is in no way the complete opposite of what the Liberal Democrats campaigned for in the election, and we wholeheartedly agree with our new Conservative partners".
Option Two, when the new government really means business, is to bring out a senior Tory, who will haughtily explain how the new reforms will work and will look at any interviewer who asks questions with an irritation you might show a difficult child. The main culprits this week have been Andrew Lansley, the Health Secretary, who appeared in front of a panel of GPs on Newsnight on Monday and Francis Maude, who was a speaker on last night's Question Time. Both very seriously explained how the most dramatic reforms to the National Health Service since its creation are necessary to cut waste and bureacracy, whilst shifting in their seats in the manner of one who has rather nasty piles and frowning at any questions that dissenters may ask.
That's the Tory weapon: the Labour one was to look flustered, or to use general obfuscation when asked about the contradictions in their shiny new policy initiatives. The coalition government will get round to this in due time, I'm sure, they've already got down perfectly the ability to completely contradict journalists.
It's the composition of the new Cameron government, I think. After the election, the point was made about how few women are in this new coalition cabinet. Not just that, but with the exception of Dave and George, the new government seems to comprise some real silver foxes, all of whom look at you like a stern uncle, should you feign to question the notion that what the new government is doing is in the country's best interest.
When undertaking such sweeping changes to the education and health systems of this country, as this government is doing, there's a certain need to make them sound attractive, necessary, even hopeful - especially in the wake of one of the worst recessions this country has seen in a long time.
The new government, though, just reminds me of a cabal of line managers: the ones you get at work in any office or department store, the ones who hand down new initiatives, new cost-cutting measures. The ones who check on your work, tell you to work harder and better and faster. The ones who, when you try to get them to smile, simply give you a blank look, because managers and their underlings can't possibly be on the same wavelength.
The massive cuts to public services and public sector jobs, have been justified by the argument that the private sector will jump in and create the jobs that will be lost. This is part of Cameron's election promise "to get Britain working again". To be fair, he can sometimes look as though he means it. The rest of his cabinet have these elderly patrician faces which stare back at you and remind you of the truth: that slightly humourless men in grey suits are part and parcel of every organisation, that the private sector is as much about bureaucracy as the public sector in our post-industrial country. For example, the fact that nPower and Eon are private electricity companies doesn't stop them mindlessly sending you letters about court summons if you happen to be behind on one payment. Nor does it prevent you being put through to a myriad number of call centres when you ring up your bank with a question.
The private sector is a place for new business ideas, enterprise. But the government should throw its weight behind these, looking at ways in which new and small businesses can be helped. Championing the private sector rings hollow in a Britain where most high streets look exactly the same and Tesco can drive a lot of local grocery shops out of business. The public sector costs money and areas of cost cutting can be found. However, in the case of the NHS reshuffle, the BBC has revealed that these measures will cost 1.7 billion to implement; the NHS personnel who will lose their jobs need a good explanation, because with these figures, the British public is left with no logic, and the reforms essentially amount to "private sector good, public sector bad". This is a tired and cruelly familiar neo-liberal refrain, which needs reconsideration.
The age of austerity has been championed as a political necessity by the coalition government. It may not be the government's role to make it's people happy all the time; but the face of the next decade is looking increasingly boring, uncaring, wrinkled when you have, well, bored, uncaring, wrinkled politicians on Newsnight telling you a primary care trust is a waste of money, that your school isn't going to get any money this year, that you can't have Thunderbird Island for Christmas.
No, wait, I just had a flashback to 1993.
Option Two, when the new government really means business, is to bring out a senior Tory, who will haughtily explain how the new reforms will work and will look at any interviewer who asks questions with an irritation you might show a difficult child. The main culprits this week have been Andrew Lansley, the Health Secretary, who appeared in front of a panel of GPs on Newsnight on Monday and Francis Maude, who was a speaker on last night's Question Time. Both very seriously explained how the most dramatic reforms to the National Health Service since its creation are necessary to cut waste and bureacracy, whilst shifting in their seats in the manner of one who has rather nasty piles and frowning at any questions that dissenters may ask.
That's the Tory weapon: the Labour one was to look flustered, or to use general obfuscation when asked about the contradictions in their shiny new policy initiatives. The coalition government will get round to this in due time, I'm sure, they've already got down perfectly the ability to completely contradict journalists.
It's the composition of the new Cameron government, I think. After the election, the point was made about how few women are in this new coalition cabinet. Not just that, but with the exception of Dave and George, the new government seems to comprise some real silver foxes, all of whom look at you like a stern uncle, should you feign to question the notion that what the new government is doing is in the country's best interest.
When undertaking such sweeping changes to the education and health systems of this country, as this government is doing, there's a certain need to make them sound attractive, necessary, even hopeful - especially in the wake of one of the worst recessions this country has seen in a long time.
The new government, though, just reminds me of a cabal of line managers: the ones you get at work in any office or department store, the ones who hand down new initiatives, new cost-cutting measures. The ones who check on your work, tell you to work harder and better and faster. The ones who, when you try to get them to smile, simply give you a blank look, because managers and their underlings can't possibly be on the same wavelength.
The massive cuts to public services and public sector jobs, have been justified by the argument that the private sector will jump in and create the jobs that will be lost. This is part of Cameron's election promise "to get Britain working again". To be fair, he can sometimes look as though he means it. The rest of his cabinet have these elderly patrician faces which stare back at you and remind you of the truth: that slightly humourless men in grey suits are part and parcel of every organisation, that the private sector is as much about bureaucracy as the public sector in our post-industrial country. For example, the fact that nPower and Eon are private electricity companies doesn't stop them mindlessly sending you letters about court summons if you happen to be behind on one payment. Nor does it prevent you being put through to a myriad number of call centres when you ring up your bank with a question.
The private sector is a place for new business ideas, enterprise. But the government should throw its weight behind these, looking at ways in which new and small businesses can be helped. Championing the private sector rings hollow in a Britain where most high streets look exactly the same and Tesco can drive a lot of local grocery shops out of business. The public sector costs money and areas of cost cutting can be found. However, in the case of the NHS reshuffle, the BBC has revealed that these measures will cost 1.7 billion to implement; the NHS personnel who will lose their jobs need a good explanation, because with these figures, the British public is left with no logic, and the reforms essentially amount to "private sector good, public sector bad". This is a tired and cruelly familiar neo-liberal refrain, which needs reconsideration.
The age of austerity has been championed as a political necessity by the coalition government. It may not be the government's role to make it's people happy all the time; but the face of the next decade is looking increasingly boring, uncaring, wrinkled when you have, well, bored, uncaring, wrinkled politicians on Newsnight telling you a primary care trust is a waste of money, that your school isn't going to get any money this year, that you can't have Thunderbird Island for Christmas.
No, wait, I just had a flashback to 1993.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Welcome to the Academy, children
I have several problems with the idea of the idea of state schools in this country becoming academies, under the new Education Secretary, Michael Gove. The first is that I can't fathom a world in which we start talking about which "academy" we went to instead of "school". "Academy" always brings a kind of science fiction/Top Gun/action film association along with it. "The academy" is where you go if you're the top fighter pilot for the United States Air Force. You only talk about the academy when one your buddies takes a bullet for you - "Damn, we were at the academy together" The other problem of course, beyond my fifteen year old's imagination, is that the academy system seems neat and will probably yield some good, individual results and case studies for the Conservatives to use in their next election manifesto. However, it still represents another example of the latest government making wholesale changes to the way children are taught, what their schools are called, how they are funded, which ends up being more of a political sleight of hand than a genuine reform.
Saturday, 8 May 2010
Note to the BBC: Leave the Queen alone
I think the 24 hour news coverage of the election has finally broken me. The moment in which it happened was during the ten o'clock news last night, when Nicholas Witchell was standing outside the Palace, saying that the Monarchy had 'plans' in the event that a hung parliament came to pass (I'm paraphrasing slightly, though the full article can be viewed here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/election_2010/8667820.stm).
I was left wondering, really? What plans? Where does the Queen keep them? Under her bed? When she was told of the hung Parliament news, did she spit out her tea, pull a handle which opened a secret door to the "hung parliament" room and immediately order the plans be put into effect? Apparently, she's been consulting constitutional lawyers, so she can be prepared for "any eventuality". Again, you have to love reporters' rhetoric, because the word "eventuality" brings to mind a situation in which Brown, Cameron and Clegg would duel to the death outside Downing Street. Or the Queen, sensing there will be no overall winner, activates another lever which sinks the Houses of Parliament into the Thames, similar to Marineville in Stingray. Because that's what the Constitutional lawyers told her must happen. The use of constitutional lawyers makes you think that, as the BBC themselves write in the same article, the Queen hasn't experienced a Hung Parliament before. In fact, the last one was in the 17th century, and the only record is on a mysterious scroll at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.
So then the Queen has to dispatch a secret team of archaelogists to get it back, whose leader looks a lot like Nicholas Cage.
Admittedly these are all my crazy flights of fancy. But seriously boys, you can stop speculating as to conversations in Buckhingham Palace you didn't see and probably didn't happen. But then ,where would the fun be if we didn't narrativise everything? I'll leave you with a few of these gems
'The Palace has also been consulting several leading academics who specialise in constitutional law. They have assisted the Palace in preparing for any eventuality, and they will be on hand over coming days to offer further advice if called upon.'
"The Queen will watch how things unfold"
It's all so brilliantly speculative. The advisors will be on hand if called upon. I bet they'll just be watching the snooker
I was left wondering, really? What plans? Where does the Queen keep them? Under her bed? When she was told of the hung Parliament news, did she spit out her tea, pull a handle which opened a secret door to the "hung parliament" room and immediately order the plans be put into effect? Apparently, she's been consulting constitutional lawyers, so she can be prepared for "any eventuality". Again, you have to love reporters' rhetoric, because the word "eventuality" brings to mind a situation in which Brown, Cameron and Clegg would duel to the death outside Downing Street. Or the Queen, sensing there will be no overall winner, activates another lever which sinks the Houses of Parliament into the Thames, similar to Marineville in Stingray. Because that's what the Constitutional lawyers told her must happen. The use of constitutional lawyers makes you think that, as the BBC themselves write in the same article, the Queen hasn't experienced a Hung Parliament before. In fact, the last one was in the 17th century, and the only record is on a mysterious scroll at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.
So then the Queen has to dispatch a secret team of archaelogists to get it back, whose leader looks a lot like Nicholas Cage.
Admittedly these are all my crazy flights of fancy. But seriously boys, you can stop speculating as to conversations in Buckhingham Palace you didn't see and probably didn't happen. But then ,where would the fun be if we didn't narrativise everything? I'll leave you with a few of these gems
'The Palace has also been consulting several leading academics who specialise in constitutional law. They have assisted the Palace in preparing for any eventuality, and they will be on hand over coming days to offer further advice if called upon.'
"The Queen will watch how things unfold"
It's all so brilliantly speculative. The advisors will be on hand if called upon. I bet they'll just be watching the snooker
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