back to berlin…

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Catherine Lurie’s thoughtful, sobering documentary “Back In Berlin”. It follows eleven Jewish bikers travelling from Israel to Berlin for the Maccabiah Games (often referred to as the ‘Jewish Olympics’).
In 1930, a group of Jewish bikers travelled to all corners of Europe to find participants for the first Maccabiah Games. In 2015, to commemorate this heroic journey, 11 Jewish bikers set off from Israel once again to re-trace their ancestors' footsteps and carry the Maccabiah torch to the site of the infamous 1936 Berlin Olympics for the first games held on German soil. Travelling 4500km across 7 countries in just 24 days, together they explore their dark genocidal past and discover how they or they families survived the Holocaust.
Given the populist movements from both the left and right rising again today, “Back to Berlin” provides an essential connection between the past and present. It’s a cautionary tale but also a story of defiance, survival and people overcoming the worst from others to restate our common humanity – and with the games themselves being a kind of redemption. Or, as the Guardian film critic, Peter Bradshaw, aptly describes it: “an Olympic flame of hope burning defiantly in the presence of moral darkness”.
It’s a beautiful, evocative and poignant documentary that reflects on anti-semitism in Europe and very much worth seeing.
PS: There were just me and five others in the audience, but I did strike up an interesting conversation with a fascinating, highly intelligent, 83 year-old man (a former nuclear scientist)… and, for some reason(!), we found ourselves talking about Trump and Brexit (he started it!!)(note: he was very much ‘a man after my own heart’!) and bemoaning how on earth we’d come to find ourselves in the current mess. At the end of the film, he turned to me, wiping tears from his eyes, and simply said: “an emotional journey”. He was absolutely right.

two go on a great western adventure…

Dear GWR
I’ll try to keep this reasonably brief – because I expect a lot of the passengers on yesterday’s 19.03 train from London Paddington to Exeter St David’s might also be writing to you…

1. We arrived in good time, found our coach (coach A) and looked for our seats.
2. The electronic seat displays weren’t working (surprise, surprise!) BUT, thankfully, reserved seat cards had been put in place.
3. We had booked seats 61+62… only to discover that the carriage only had 61 seats (really)!!
4. We (and other passengers) then discovered that the reserved seat cards seemed to have been scattered entirely randomly throughout the carriage (I kid you not!!) and bore no relationship to the numbered seats to which they’d been attached.
5. Annoying and inconvenient as this was, passengers made adjustments as best they could and eventually settled into their seats… despite the frustrations, good humour generally reigned (but staff members were conspicuous by their absence).
6. Two minutes after the train was due to depart, there was an announcement telling us that all passengers had to move into the front five coaches (no apology or explanation, just an announcement)(the train had 10 coaches and we were later advised that a staff member had failed to turn up – which meant they were only able to operate with 5 coaches… which later reverted to 10 coaches because they’d eventually managed to find another member of staff)(are you following this?!).
7. The rear five coaches were already crowded with passengers and you can imagine the displeasure of those affected (and, in some cases, sheer panic!)…
8. After a further 10 minute delay (to allow for passengers to find alternative seats or standing locations in the front five coaches) - and, of course, the notion of securing any reserved seats had long since vanished and people just sat, if they were lucky, wherever they could – the train departed.
9. The journey continued relatively smoothly… albeit late (and I actually felt quite sorry for the train manager – who was trying to cope as best she could).
10. But as we approached Bristol Temple Meads (literally 30 seconds before the train’s arrival), there was another brief announcement telling any passenger who was proceeding beyond Bristol (fortunately, this was our destination), that they needed to be in the FRONT five coaches – as only five coaches would be making the full journey. I can only imagine the consternation of the passengers affected. Why on earth wasn’t this announcement made as the train left Bath Spa station, so that people had time to prepare themselves for their ongoing journeys?

Oh, what fun we had… two go on a Great Western Adventure (indeed!).
Travelling by train and being able to book seats in advance used to be a pleasurable, if relatively expensive, experience. I’m afraid this is no longer the case… journeys have just become experiences to endure rather than enjoy.
Yours sincerely
Steve Broadway

PS: Over the past several weeks, we’ve travelled by GWR (always avoiding busiest times of day) and have been consistently finding that there have been issues with our booked seats (not to mention the odd cancelled train and delayed services). Invariably, the electronic seat display (where applicable) isn’t working and passengers, understandably perhaps, refusing to give up their seats just because someone like me tells them that they’re occupying our booked seats.

PPS: We’ve also experienced a number of occasions when the train has become so crowded that there have been, for example, more than 20 passengers left standing in our coach for entire sections of journeys. It seems that you’re just delighted to sell as many tickets as you can – even if that results in unacceptable, over-crowded trains… and then, ironically (as a train manager announced to us passengers on a train last week), one of the reasons for the late arrival of our train was the large number of passengers getting off and on the train!!

suspiria…

I went along to the Watershed this morning (another 11am screening!) to see Luca Guadagnino’s “Suspiria” (there’s no truth in the rumour that I’d misread the Watershed advertising and thought it was something to do with a “sarsaparilla” drink). To be honest, I was in town first thing this morning and the thought of watching the ‘morning movie’ rather appealed – even though I knew very little about the film in question.
It turns out that it was a pretty scary film about witchcraft – featuring lots of blood and lots of skin (in the broadest sense). Apparently, the film is a ‘cover version’ (using the director’s description) of Dario Argento’s 1977 horror classic – which I’d never seen and knew nothing about. Guadagnino’s ‘take’ is set in Berlin in the 1970s (at a time when Germany was on ‘almost on the verge of a civil war’ – according to the Watershed’s blurb) and follows Susie Bannion (played by Dakota Johnson) as an ambitious young dancer auditioning for a place in a prestigious school - run, it turns out, by a coven of witchy women – including the wonderful Tilda Swinton (who also plays the parts of the company’s lead choreographer and, bizarrely, an 82 year-old male psychotherapist!). Students are disappearing (apparently due to some kind of ancient violence that dwells within the school’s walls)…
I certainly am no fan of ‘horror films’ as a genre, but was quite impressed by its rather spellbinding, dark ‘look’ and its eerily brilliant score (by Thom Yorke). Guadagnino describes the film as being about “being immersed in a world of turmoil and uncompromising darkness”... and it's difficult to disagree. Less impressive, for me, was the film’s length (2hours 32minutes)!
If you’re looking for a warm, cosy, feel-good film, this is probably not for you!

november 2018 books…

Ariel: A Literary Life Of Jan Morris (Derek Johns): I’m a great lover of Jan Morris’s books (her ‘Oxford’ and ‘Venice’ titles are probably in the top 20 of my all-time favourite books). She’s a supremely gifted writer and story-teller about places and I love her elegant, distinctive style of writing. This book (published 2016) is written by the man who was her literary agent for 20 years (they met for the first time in the early 1980s) and is a wonderful, affectionate biography which is full of quotations from her various books - “structured more thematically than chronologically”. It is not ‘authorised’ as such, though Johns interviewed Morris “several times”, and she gave him access to material and provided the (stunning) line drawings which are scattered throughout the book. I very much enjoyed it and it’s made me want read (and re-read) some of Morris’s other works.
The River In The Sky (Clive James): This is an epic poem which takes readers on a grand tour of “the fragile treasures of his life”. Powerful, poignant, and often very funny, recollections of places, people, books, art, music, cinema, regrets, high points, Cambridge and his family and much more, as he comes to the end of his life (I wrote to him more than 3 years ago… at a time when it seemed he didn’t have long left!). I love James’s writing - his wit, his eloquence, the breadth of his knowledge. I had originally wanted to read the whole thing out loud, but all too frequently found myself stumbling over classical names, exotic places lines of Latin and the like! But I did succeed, in my rather stumbling way, to do so for pages on end and, although there was much of the poem that I didn’t fully understand (due to my lack of knowledge and intellect!), I was completely bowled over by his ability to write such beautiful prose. From his previous books, I was well aware of his love of the Tango and, sure enough, the book contained a wonderful, evocative passage - that runs for a couple of pages (pp35-6) - about the “most delicately gracious of all the dancing ladies” who was “stone blind” and “danced like a dream”. It brought tears to my eyes. It’s a stunning book – which I’ll dip into constantly over the coming years. It helps put the ‘meaning of life’ into grateful context. A real treasure.
Milkman (Anna Burns): This won The Man Booker Prize 2018 and it’s a wonderful book. Extraordinary, in fact. It’s set in Northern Ireland in the late 1970s (in an unnamed city). The entire book is written in the first-person through the eyes of an intelligent, well-read, 18 year-old woman (‘middle sister’ as she calls herself). It’s a story of gossip and hearsay; when being on the ‘wrong side’ could have severe consequences; about power and fear; where life is cheap; about rumour and counter-rumour; about control and defiance; about ‘renouncers’ and ‘non-renouncers’; about the state and the paramilitary; about innocence and naivety. The book is, in turns, frightening, hilarious and joyous (that might seem hard to grasp, but that’s exactly how I experienced the book). No ‘proper’ names are used – instead there are characters referred to by such names as ‘Somebody McSomebody’, ‘tablets girl’, ‘nuclear boy’ and ‘maybe-boyfriend’. Although the book is set in a world dominated (in all senses) by men, there was, for me, a real sense that women-power was ultimately going to play a huge part in bringing peace and commonsense to the Province. I was quite captivated by Burns’ exceptional, original writing style. Quite, quite brilliant. A truly remarkable book (in my view!).  
Sincerity (Carol Ann Duffy): Duffy is clearly a very gifted poet and this is the third book of hers I have. Although, over perhaps the last five years or so, I’ve become a great lover of poetry, I still struggle with a lot of individual poems… and such is the case with this book. However, there are perhaps a dozen poems that I think are quite wonderful (and, no doubt, there’ll be others that I will come to love as I re-read them over the coming months and years). I particularly like her ‘take’ on political situations… Overall, I have to say, I was a little disappointed (there’s still part of me that wants poets to provide postscripts giving some context for their ‘less obvious’ poems to help those of us who struggle to understand them!).
Playing To The Gallery (Grayson Perry): This was published in 2014 (one might describe it as a tidied up version of his brilliant Reith Lectures from the previous year). I’m a huge fan of Perry and think he has a real gift for words as well as art. The book underlines his commitment to ‘making’. At the beginning of the book, Perry says: "I firmly believe that anyone is eligible to enjoy art or become an artist – any oik, any prole, any citizen who has a vision they want to share" and I’m absolutely with him on this. He talks about judging quality (in a chapter entitled “Democracy Has Bad Taste”) and about his own pathway into the art world (in a chapter entitled “How do you become a contemporary artist?). It’s all very profound, straightforward and amusing. He’s very good at exposing artistic pomposity and I loved his tongue-in-cheek contention that developers should pay artists to live somewhere for 10 years rent-free (on the basis that “artists are the shock troops of gentrification”… moving into cheap housing, do their work and, before you know it, a buzz starts up and people start describing the area as “interesting” and “cool”). He clearly feels that ‘learning a technique’ is crucial to any individual artistic development (“my imaginative possibilities have expanded”). Although he freely admits he didn’t make a profit from art until he was 38, I think it’s definitely a book written from the perspective of a ‘successful artist’. He talks enthusiastically about students attending art college being allowed “uncertainty” and “the need to find themselves, the desire for freedom but also the desire to know what to do”… and, for me, as someone who frequently struggles with trying to understand ‘contemporary art’ (with countless experiences of attending Fine Art Degree Shows and feeling utterly depressed by most of the work I see!), these were important observations. Nevertheless, it still made me feel that for every ‘successful’ artist, there are thousands (some of whom are quite brilliant) who ‘just about’ survive (and only thanks to having a determination not to be beaten). Thought-provoking, stimulating, joyful… and funny.

twelfth night at bristol old vic…

Moira and I went along to the Old Vic this afternoon to see Wils Wilson’s ‘take’ on Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night”… and it was quite wonderful! We’re SO lucky to have such good theatres in Bristol that put on such amazing stuff and, now that the brilliant new foyer is up and running (and operating beautifully), the whole theatrical experience at the Old Vic is second-to-none.
We’ve seen “Twelfth Night” performed several times over the years (including a brilliant one when Felix was performing at the RSC), but this was also very, very special. This production is set in the late 1960s – with all its music, its fashion, its style and when ‘pleasure-seeking’ was ‘celebrated’(!) – and is just perfect for this ‘take’ on the play. It’s colourful, confident, clever and an absolute delight (and very funny too). Obviously, the late 60s was ‘our’ period too, so we felt entirely ‘at home’!
You probably already know the play’s plot: Duke Orsino of Illyria is in love with Olivia, but his advances are rejected. A shipwrecked Viola arrives on his shores, and with the help of a Captain, disguises herself as a boy, calling herself Cesario, and enters Orsino's service. Orsino takes to Cesario, and sends 'him' to woo Olivia for him. Have you got that?
It’s a very modern interpretation of the play, with gender identification playing an important part (including Dawn Sievewright playing ‘Lady Tobi’ as opposed to Sir Toby Belch and Colette Dalal Tchantcho playing Duke Orsino).

The acting is consistently brilliant – the entire cast is hugely talented (they’re ALL stars) – and the music is stunningly good too (with, I think, six of the twelve actors playing a wide range of musical instruments and singing). Almost impossible to pick out the ‘stars’ of the performance but, for me, I thought Dawn Sievewright (Lady Tobi), Christopher Green (Malvolio), Guy Hughes (Andrew Aguecheek) and Dylan Read (Feste) are especially wonderful.  

It was an absolute delight… an absolute joy (I’d happily go back and see it all over again tomorrow!).
Photo: Christopher Green, as Malvolio, complete with cross-gartered yellow stockings.
PS: The high-heel boots of Malvolio and Andrew Aquecheek reminded me of one of my fellow architectural students (I'm blowed if I can remember his name: Alan Byrne perhaps?)... who, despite already being 6'3" tall, used to wear high-heel boots... handsome man with a very deep, refined accent and he consistently wore a velvet jacket and trousers... whatever happened to him?
PPS: The play runs until Saturday 17 November: if you’re within easy reach of Bristol, then I urge you to see it.

peterloo…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Mike Leigh’s film “Peterloo”.
As you probably already know, the Peterloo Massacre occurred at St Peter's Field, Manchester in August 1819 (the massacre was given the name ‘Peterloo’ in an ironic comparison to the Battle of Waterloo, which had taken place four years earlier), when cavalry charged into a crowd of 60,000–80,000 who had gathered to demand the reform of parliamentary representation (15 people were killed and hundreds injured).
Although I was well aware of the Peterloo Massacre, somewhat shamefully, I knew comparatively little about its details and context (I was forced to drop History as a school subject in my second year – that’s my excuse!).
Leigh weaves multiple stories of everyday people to create an impressive historical epic that delivers a very sobering look at a 19th century moment that still resonates in the present, but there’s still part of me that rather agrees with Mary Beard’s recent comments about her dislike of ‘fictionalised history’ (with some details perhaps invented/embellished/slightly manipulated) but, nevertheless, the film is a remarkable achievement.
I’m a great fan of Mike Leigh and, yes, I know he can always be relied upon when it comes to pointing out cruel injustices waged against the working classes… but, frankly, thank goodness that we do have someone with his talent and in his position to do so!
In some ways, however, I have to say that I was slightly disappointed.
I think I’d expected it to have been concluded in something of a “what-lessons-can-we-all-learn-from-this?” big film ending, but that’s not the way Mike Leigh does things. I thought the film was slow and a little too long (just over two-and-a-half hours) – with some passages running on excessively for my taste and yet there were other sections where I would have liked more focus/greater depth. But the film is a veritable tour de force – with thousands of extras (no digital imagery for Mr Leigh!) and it tells a really important story about our crucial social history… and about the suffering of the poor families and labourers emerging utterly transformed and urbanised by new technology following the industrial revolution. The massacre was clearly a defining moment. In the Watershed’s programme notes, Leigh complains that whilst every school pupil is taught about Henry VIII’s six wives, the ‘Peterloo’ massacre is largely ignored. Interestingly (for me at least), according to Wikipedia, Peterloo is commemorated by a plaque close to the site - a replacement for an earlier one that was criticised as being inadequate as it did not reflect the scale of the massacre.
I learnt an awful lot from the film… about how the poor of the early 18^th century were so mistreated; about the fact that most of them had no political voice or true representation; about how power and influence was reserved for the tiny privileged minority; and about how, to a large extent, these people abused their responsibilities within society. Some might say: “T’was ever thus”... and they might have a point.
Inevitably with Mike Leigh, the films makes political points for us today… in the early years of the c18th, people maddened with hunger because corn law tariffs had barred imports of cheap grain from the continent… and in 2018, our government is planning to stockpile food (and medicines) in the event of similar restrictions on trade.
The film’s about austerity. It’s dour. It’s about dissent. It’s about political agitation, oratory and challenge.
Maybe there aren’t that many differences between then and now... mass pro-democracy protest in Manchester, 1819 and the People’s Vote march in London, 2018? There’s certainly the same sense of anger and unfairness.

 

karine polwart at st george’s (again)…

I went along to St George’s Bristol last night to hear Karine Polwart perform (alongside her talented guitarist brother Steven and accordionist/percussionist Inge). I think this was the seventh time I’ve been to one of her concerts (although, ridiculously, the last time was 5 years ago) and, as you might imagine, I’m a huge fan!
My goodness, she IS utterly brilliant!
She started her performance by blending two of her beautiful songs together (both making powerful statements about the 45^th President of the US): “I Burn But I Am Not Consumed” and “Cover Your Eyes”. I already knew both songs but, nevertheless, they still made me want to stand up and link arms with everyone else at the concert (and in the UK… and in the world!!) and say “These are OUR songs – they speak for us!”.
Listen and weep.
It proved to be another stunning evening – powerful, intelligent, thought-provoking, political, tender, poignant music at its very best. She’s an eloquent poet (and she’s frequently funny too). She’s a person who reminds you that small voices are important. She’s an inspiration.
At this time when so many of us are disenchanted by politics and what’s happening in the world, last night was a wonderful reminder that there ARE decent, inspiring people who demand to be heard.  
May it be so.
PS: It was lovely that quite a few friends were also at the gig (including Catherine, Tracey, Sarah, Judith, Charlie, Richard, Dave and Nick)… all people with impeccable tastes in music, obviously!
Photo: Catherine and I sat in the front row(!) and this is a rather hurried ‘snap’ at the end of the concert (strictly speaking, photography isn’t allowed)(oops, sorry)…