Education, education, educaton

I have lifted this from Chekov because I think it is interesting, insightful and biographical:

You have only one defect ...your extraordinary lack of education...educated people in my opinion must satisfy the following conditions:

1. They respect a man's personality, and therefore are always tolerant, gentile, polite and tolerant. They do not make a riot about a little hammer or a lost rubber; living with others they do not make a favour of it, and when leaving do not say, "It is impossible to live with you!" They excuse noise and cold, and over-roasted meat, and witticisms, and the presence of other people in their house....

2. They are compassionate, and not only with beggars and cats, for they grieve in their soul for what the naked eye does not see...They do not sleep for nights so as to to help their parents pay for their brothers' studies, to buy clothes for their mother....

3. They respect other people's property and therefore they pay their debts.

4. They are pure in heart and fear a lie as they fear fire. They do not lie, even in trifles. A lie is humiliating to the listener, and it debases the speaker before his own eyes. They do not show off; they behave in public just as they behave in home; they do not throw dust in the eyes of humbler people, and do not make up soul to soul conversations when they are not asked. Out of respect people's ears they are often silent.

5. They do not belittle themselves to arouse the compassion of others. They do not play on the strings of other people's souls so that they shall sigh over and fondle them. They do not say: "People don't understand me!" because all that produces is a cheap effect; it is vulgar, musty, false.

6. They are not vain-glorious. They do not care about such false diamonds as acquaintanceship with celebrities, shaking hands with the drunken P__, the raptures of a well-met fellow at the salon, popularity in public houses....Doing a farthing's worth, they do not walk about with their briefcases as if they had done a hundred roubles' worth, and do not boast of having been admitted where others are not admitted.

It's from a letter to his brother and, at times, it shows but it is still interesting.

Lobes of Learning

'A History of Modern Britain', broadcast on Tuesdays, 9pm BBC2, is Andrew Marr's next step on the road to becoming a Superdon. After heroically fighting flagging sales at 'The Independent', and withstanding the venom of the cruel Impersonator, he now displays his extraordinary gift as a TV historian, waging a personal vendetta against ignorance.

Marr knows he cannot join the elite Superdons without distinct enunciation. David Starkey has his cold consonants conveying intellectual menace, Simon Schama has a roller-coaster approach to stressing syllables and so Andrew Marr had goes for a slow, deliberate, head-nodding delivery.

It is an admirable achievement for Marr and it obviously helps him rein in his gesticulations. He is often seated, hands clasped, looking like he has just finished the 'how to' volume on gravitas. As a consequence of his restraint, sometimes his delivery begins to quicken, as he bubbles with excitement, but it serves to add to the wonderful whole.

The first programme dealt with the post-war years, with Atlee's newly elected government and its vision of a 'new Jerusalem'; but the history also covers cultural changes, with an applaudable nod to Ealing Studios and a focus on the emergence of a desire for non-conformist clothing. (A social development concisely covered by 'The Onion's' headline: MAN VENTURES OUTSIDE HATLESS)

It's well narrated and edited and I could have watched it all day. Well done Andrew Marr, the cape's in the post.

Blimey

It is a sad day for cinematic depictions of old London town.

'The Long Good Friday' is going to be remade as a thriller sent in Miami, by the guy that served up 'Resident Evil'.

However, maybe we can take positives from this recent press release, outlining Cobbledown's latest productions:

The Metro-Morphisis - In a role tipped for Oscar success, Ray Winstone wakes up one morning and discovers he is no longer a loud-mouthed cockney.

He finds his precious East End has been the subject of covert, creeping gentrification and has to wrestle with the philosophical dilemma common to many a Londoner:

Evolution or Essex?

(Contains some politically correct language and a scene featuring a man eating eel)

The Wicker Basket.

A sequel to the 70s cult classic.

A Pagan retirement community is blighted by the failure of prescription drugs and their daily activities take a darker shade.

(Contains some intense griping and scenes featuring sacrifice of fingernails and some mild bingo)

Reminders and Echoes

In February 2004, at least 21 Chinese cockle pickers drowned in Morecombe Bay; the bodies of two others were never found. In 2006, the gang master was jailed for fourteen years on charges of manslaughter.

For many members of the British public, the tragedy was the first time they had been aware of the scale of ‘snakehead’ operations and the working conditions for the illegal migrants.

Nick Broomfield’s latest film, ‘Ghosts’, is a brave attempt to provide a narrative for the events preceding the tragedy and provide enlightenment on a murky world. There are similarities with Michael Winterbottom’s, ‘In This World’, a film featuring the journey of two young Afghans, on an illegal journey to a better life in London.

‘Ghosts’ begins by highlighting Ai Qin, a young, single mother in rural China struggling to support her family. She meets a bright, helpful, connected man who can arrange her passage to the UK for $25,000. Unsure, she is shown a picture of a young Chinese, proudly standing outside his suburban semi, arms folded and resting on his BMW. This status display encourages her to pay the deposit, convinced in the knowledge that a life in luxury awaits and she will easily keep the loan sharks at bay.

Her six-month journey begins and she is shut into a truck. Unfortunately, its movement is largely depicted by the ‘moving red line on a map’ method of illustrating progress and it therefore never matches the journey of ‘In This World’. In that, Winterbottom used more creativity, juxtaposing the grim, cramped conditions of the migrants against the beauty of the surroundings.

The journey is bland and adds little to awareness of the scale of snakehead operations but when the migrants arrive in the UK, greeted by an unwelcome party, the viewer begins to gain an insight into the intolerable conditions for the illegal workers. They are forced to work in processing plants, live 8-10 to a room, find themselves exposed to bigotry and existing in a food chain of corruption.

Nick Broomfield, has said ‘A film is a portrait of an aspect of society’, and ‘Ghosts’ succeeds in that respect. However, unlike his other films, such as ‘Biggie and Tupac’ and ‘Kurt and Courtney’, it does not depict life through documentary. To make the film as authentic as possible, the cast is composed of unknowns from rural China and there is no scripted dialogue. The actors perform admirably but at times the conversational exchanges are clunky and heavy-handed.

Walking through a supermarket, a migrant remarks ‘It’s so expensive’, referring to produce they have been picking. It highlights the irony that western consumers demand low prices, which leads to exploitation of workers who, aware of the profit margin, then feel they are ripped off; but the scene feels inauthentic and the issues need a proper documentary.

The film’s problem is that it tries to provide a narrative for material ill suited to the role. Two films about 9/11 attempted the same task. Of ‘World Trade Center’ and ‘United 93’, it was the latter that provided the more moving cinematic experience, in part because the passengers initiated change. ‘United 93’ conveyed an electrifying emotional charge, and that is missing in both ‘World Trade Center’ and ‘Ghosts’, partly because the circumstances of each tragedy prevent a rage against the dying of the light.

‘Ghosts’ is stronger when it is conveying a sense of isolation, appropriate because of the workers’ ultimate fate, marooned on a van, calling relatives in China, unaware they could contact the emergency services. It is a worthwhile, if flat, film.

Its impact is further diminished by a politically naïve closing statement. It will not address any of the problems that caused a Chinese cockle picker to say, when interviewed two years after the Morecombe Bay disaster: ‘Even if they asked me to jump off a building , I’d still do it as long as there’s money for me.’

Tangled Web

The Spiderman movies have a history of editorial cuts. The original had images of the World Trade Centre removed in postproduction after the events of September 11. In early drafts, ‘Spiderman 2’ had the Black cat included as a major character. (At the time, some commentators thought there was no future for scenes of urban terror in the cinema. Six years later, Sam Raimi, the director of the Spiderman movies, deploys plenty of images of people falling from damaged office buildings and of Manhattan streets temporarily shrouded in dust.) Ironic, then, that ‘Spiderman 3’, a bloated messy affair, was nearly cut into two films after a screenplay, which only included the Sandman, had to be re-written to include the villain, Venom. The strain shows.

The opening sequence provides the first hint of the narrative problems as it is like watching an episode of ‘Fame’, scripted on the day the writers swapped jobs with their pets. The dialogue craves accompanying speech bubbles and Spiderman appears to have had his sense of humour outsourced to Gotham City.

In the preceding films, the viewer could sit back and enjoy some CGI generated slapdowns. ‘Spiderman 3’ has so many plot elements to introduce, including a superfluous amnesia storyline, that there are plentiful buttock shifts before Peter Parker eventually, satisfyingly, takes a roundhouse to the nostrils.

The story flits from a competitive dynamic between Peter Parker and his best friend, Harry Osborn, to the introduction of convict Flint Marko, who has escaped from prison but, judging by his T-shirt, is not yet free from the confines of Freddie Krueger’s away kit.

Flint is a man on the lam and his badge-wearing pursuers force him to take an unplanned trip to the seaside. Like many who have bought food on a pier, he is soon experiencing advanced molecular restructuring, a consequence of falling into some kind of giant candyfloss maker. It is a boon for his career as he returns as a big, mean, son of a beach.

Spiderman is paddling in the shallows of celebrity, just as his girlfriend’s career needs a life jacket. There are consequences for their relationship, which leads to the funniest scene. It stars Bruce Campbell, Sam Raimi stalwart, whose face contorted its way through the ‘Evil Dead’ movies. Parker, traumatised by a row with Mary-Jane and Campbell’s French accent, succumbs to the dark side.

The much-trailed black suit is a wasted opportunity. Spiderman becomes more aggressive but he would still struggle to disturb Little Miss Muffet’s lunch. Parker changes his wardrobe, evolves to a super-fly-guy, strutting his stuff through the streets of Manhattan, before settling as a lounge lizard. His new vanity serves the narrative and the remainder of the film is a battle featuring Sandman and the man in the mirror.

The individual chunks are not terrible but without a convincing structure it is a boring experience, akin to typing ‘Spiderman’ into YouTube and randomly watching the filtered clips.

The final sequence is dramatic but it is the high wire act of a circus performed by men in funny suits. The preceding stunts lack an effective ringmaster and ‘Spiderman 3’ highlights the need to change directors. Sam Raimi has contributed two superb films but has clearly become bored. The franchise needs a new sheriff.

Bookish

A friend has a printed T-shirt and the words ask, ‘What if the hokey cokey IS what it is all about?’

It must be flying from the stalls in Santa Monica as there is a spate of films and books crossing the Atlantic, outlining the need for philosophical reassessment.

In ‘The Weather Man’, Nicolas Cage plays a character with a reasonably successful career but whose personal life is in turmoil and is occasionally pelted with soda cartons from a less than appreciative public. In A.M. Homes’ recent novel ‘This Book Will Save Your Life’, a fifty-something Californian man, who makes a living trading stocks on the Internet, is forced to confront his isolation after a near death experience.

Now, there is the DVD release of ‘Stranger Than Fiction’, from director Marc Foster and writer Zach Helm. The script is the first work of a man listed in Esquire (2004) Magazine’s best and brightest.

It has Will Ferrell playing Harold Crick, an IRS man who has a metronomic existence. He measures everything; from the amount he brushes each individual tooth, to the number of steps needed to cross the road.

After a snapshot of this ordered existence, Harold starts to hear a voice in his head, which provides an extremely accurate narration of his life.

Ferrell, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, give a full-throated scream and pad his walls, is led to a literary professor, played by Dustin Hoffman. They realise that the narrator is Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson) who, we surmise, is intellectually intense because she is English, looks fraught and, crucially, smokes cigarettes.

She also writes tragedies and Harold, a character in her latest novel, is about to be fatally written off unless he can convince her to change the end of the story.

Thematically, it is a post 9/11 film, examining life choices and contemplating mortality. The narrative takes place in a blend of imagination and reality. It asks questions of the viewer so we ponder on creation, the problems of individualism and gaze in awe at a world where white Americans regularly travel on buses.

When Harold meets a bakery owner, played by Maggie Gyllenhaal on love-interest duties, she extols the pleasures of preparing cookies. In an almost identical fashion, ‘This Book Will Save Your Life’, has its character experience his awakening moment in a doughnut store. They seem to suggest the speed of the infamous handcart may well be approaching breakneck, so it is time to ignore the plummet and savour some home-baked treats before it is too late

Unfortunately, we have been fed this before. It is clever, but not always engaging, coming across as Adaptation meets Groundhog Day, via an incompetent dating agency. There are odd juxtapositions of mood, such as the segue from a character crying, into a scene booming out ‘That’s Entertainment’ by The Jam, which are indicative of a film trying too hard win hearts and minds. It falls a bit flat.

It is difficult to feel warmth from the characters. Partly, that is the point, but is a shame that a script that has a few wonderful, imaginative moments, such as an exasperated wristwatch, fails to create playful dynamics between the leads.

At times, it is enjoyable but there are also too many references, some self indulgent but obscure, like the nods to The Beatles; others playful but overdone, such as the characters being named after intellectual giants. It feels like we are seeing the writer’s collection of bubblegum cards.
It is obvious that Zach Helm will write something special but ‘Stranger Than Fiction’, is a talented performer clearing his throat. The best words are still to come.

Inaction Stations

I intend today’s post to be as dull as possible. Regular readers will know I am up to the challenge.

‘Dull’ is the new black. Sometimes, we will surf the internet to wipe out the stresses of excess information. We can find sites that are reassuring because they lack perception, insight and evidence of meaningful activity.

‘WILFing ’is a label, created by media types who make sure new acronyms are as dull as possible. Standing for, ‘What was I looking for?’, it suggests we spend up to ten hours a week wasting time on the internet. A fair proportion of ‘wilf-time’ includes browsing dull web-sites.

Recently, a man spent thirteen days submerged under water in a ‘bio-sub’. He expected ‘solitude and got the opposite’. Lloyd Godson, a professional scuba diver, won the Australian Geographic ‘Live Your Dream’ Wildest Adventure Competition. His dream was to survive underwater; his nightmare was the constant surveillance.

Thousands followed his life on the live web feed, watching him survive in a dark, three-meter cubicle by riding an exercise bike and urinating on algae. The lack of variety and the unusual setting were powerful enticements for surfers seeking an antidote to over-stimulation. It was like owning a tank of tropical fish but without any messy responsibilities.

It is pure social liberty – if we select every aspect of our lives, we have the right to generate our own boredom.

Scheduled dullness is an oppressive act. Having a TV channel constantly broadcasting boring programmes is pure, psychological torture and is unacceptable (unless that is its remit). However, if a kid decides he’d like to spend a quick ten minutes checking the latest urine to algae ratio, he is exercising his right to seek out pure tedium.

Similarly, the growth of Web 2.0 will please unfocused leisure-seekers. Let the following, user-generated descriptions wash over you, secure in the knowledge that they are free of insight.

As you read, maybe treat yourself to a Jaffa Cake.

‘Today, in a high stakes poker game, I played a hand so badly, I will be surviving on a sand-based diet.’

‘As I sipped the latte, I deliberately let my eyes linger on the soft lower lip of the barista. She will be mine, I thought, as I realised it was not my coffee.’

‘Today, I cleared my workstation of pens. The desk was cluttered and, as I gathered the pens, I felt an itch. I paused to scratch my knee. I felt waves of gentle nostalgia as I recalled how I used to scratch my knee as a child.’

As dull as those examples are, surely it is the third paragraph that inspires the most grateful of head nodding by the reader.

For both writer and reader, it provides mutually assured distraction. It offers reassurance, a glimpse of the banal, and it is an acknowledgement of a kindred humanity. The other examples elicit complicated emotions – ‘Ah Christ, I’m expected to engage or sympathise,’ - but the snapshot of knee-scratching asks nothing of the reader and is thus somewhat liberating in the information age.

It also says, ‘Here is a fellow just like me. I don’t have to compete with him and he is not highlighting a life that will make me feel either inferior or superior. I think I have an itchy knee’

Bombarded by information, consumers are scratching their heads. Their refuge from overload is provided by dull web-sites and it is a positive sign for the future. It is an indicator that people will not be spoon-fed notions of how to spend their lives. It is part of the reason the cry of ‘get a life’ now seems so outdated: by wilfully becoming bored, we won’t be goal-oriented automatons.

So, now that my knee is no longer itchy and my desk is free of clutter, I’m off to wash my face. The activity will take place in a twelve-foot bathroom, sadly not covered by the internet, but rest assured that I appreciate the demand for dull writing and will think of ways in which to share some of the less memorable moments. The subsequent post will cloud an otherwise exciting day.


* For anyone interested, here is the ‘bio-sub’ - http://www.biosub.com.au