Very pretty, very touching, but little substance

I went to see The Book Thief this afternoon.  Like a few films I've seen lately, it was very well made, and beautifully photographed in particular, but ultimately rather unsatisfying.  Set in Germany in the immediate pre-war and early war period, the film is about Liesel, the daughter of a communist, who is sent to live with a foster family.  Unable to read, she is mocked by all of her schoolmates, bar neighbour Rudy, who has a crush on her.  She learns to read with alacrity, thanks to the tuition of her foster father; develops a fascination for reading, thanks, in part, to seeing a bonfire of books; and learns about injustice, thanks to Max, a young Jewish man being sheltered by her new family.  At the end of the films everyone dies: this isn't a spoiler, as the film is framed by a voiceover narrative from the personification of death, who reminds us right at the start that everyone dies eventually.

Ultimately, that is it: everyone dies eventually.  It's a universal truth; it's of universal relevance; but, I didn't need to sit through a two-hour film to be told this.  

Other than the ubiquity of death, we see the world divided into goodies - liberal, essentially kind-hearted (even if they hide it under a gruff exterior) and individualist by temperament and baddies - prejudiced, domineering and with a tendency to follow the crowd.  In Nazi Germany this means that only Liesel, her family and her admirer Rudy express any reservations about the burning of books, persecution of Jews and other minorities, and the war with Britain (and America, who ahistorically liberate Liesel's unidentified German town).  I'm by no means an expert on Twentieth-century German history, but I suspect it was more complicated than that.

The only undercurrent comes from the casting: Liesel and Rudy are played by the prettiest blonde children, while Rudy, a strong runner, has a fascination with Jessie Owens: he reenacts Owens' triumph at the 1936 Olympics, after rolling in mud in order to look black.  The intention here is honourable, but left me slightly queasy: giving the film the benefit of the doubt, I would like to think that discomfort was the intended effect in what is otherwise a rather bland film.

Cross-promotion

Not something I'd usually do, but regular readers might what to have a look at my new blog, set up especially to promote my writing career.

Irregular readers can safely ignore this and move on to something more interesting.

Line of Duty

For the past 6 Wednesdays I have been watching the second series of BBC2's Line of Duty, a drama series focussing on a police anti-corruption unit AC12.  I was slightly disappointed with the first series, which starred Lennie James as the corrupt DCI Gates.  I admire much of the work of the writer Jed Mercurio, but found it lacked the intensity of, for example, his medical drama Bodies.  

The second series proved to be much stronger.  Whereas in the first series, we knew Gates was corrupt and the journey was simply watching how the officers of AC12 pinned it on him, the second the took a more interesting approach.  From the outset suspicion falls on another DCI, Lindsay Denton (Keeley Hawkes).  Denton is a more intriguing character than Gates.  An honest, and rather rule-bound officer, and something of a loner, she stands in stark contrast to the smooth, sociable and patently untrustworthy Gates.  From the outset there seems to be little doubt about her guilt; the question is why?

Except, it turns out there is a lot of doubt about her guilt.  The hypothesis the anti-corruption officers construct becomes increasingly rickety in the face of evidence - evidence seen by them and evidence seen only by the viewer.  Denton, meanwhile, blames superior officer and former lover DCC Mike Dryden.  While this initially looks like a desperate attempt to escape justice, the viewer, seeing her treatment on remand has to think again.  The officers, too, are convinced and Dryden is arrested.  This, of course, isn't the end, and by the final episode bets were back on again and everything was set up for the grand finale.

The grand finale, sadly, didn't materialise.  The hour-long episode unfurled, much like Jane Austen's 'tell-tale compression of the pages', but leaving more loose ends and less time to tie them up.  At around the forty minute mark, we were given an extended flashback that tied up several strands in a rather unsatisfying fashion.

To an extent, I think the exigencies of TV drama must take some of the blame: it is doubtless agonisingly difficult to plot six episodes to a set length, each containing its own dramatic arc, while contributing to the overall arc of the series.  Having seen and read a few of Mercurio's series and novels, I confess to being generally let down by the endings: it seems he is very good at creating characters and putting them into unusual positions, but he just isn't that good at resolving everything.

Line of Duty is still a great series.  There are enough loose ends, in particular the newly-revealed details of DS 'Dot' Cotton's nefariousness.  The moral ambivalence of the characters and the darkness of the dramatic world will make a third series welcome.  I just hope the ending's better next time.

West Midlands Folk Lounge

On Saturday, I visited the West Midlands Folk Lounge.  I generally feel uneasy with any kind of generic approach to - well, anything.  I can't like or dislike music on the basis of what label it has.  'Folk' seems the most nebulous genre, with the possible exception of 'indie' and of course the sub-genre from Hell, 'indie folk'.  What I find most upsetting about the whole thing is that I played in an acoustic duo in the late 90s, that I jokingly described as 'indie folk' because I couldn't think of a better description.  As self-delusions go, 'I could've been a contender' is one of the more ridiculous, but knowing discovering fifteen years after the event that you might have been in the forefront of something moderately interesting is rather galling.

Enough of my middle-aged frustrations.  The most interesting of last Saturday's act were Jenny Went Away. The three band members sing in various combinations and play guitar, violin, cajon and ukulele.  They look and sound like 'indie folk' might have done had it been around in the 1940s.  They lack the technique to be totally convincing, but that is easily remedied.

The most affecting were Driftwood Store, or rather a combination of Driftwood Store and The Mistakings - there is some overlap between the two group and Saturday's lineup contained members of both.  Again, there were three singers, arranging vocal harmonies in various combinations.  They also had a violin and one guitar, shared between two guitarists.  The vocals are ethereal and shockingly beautiful; the guitar was rudimentary, but none the worse for it.

What both acts share is a willingness to move away from the tired drums/bass/rhythm/lead/vocal formula that has dominated music for about a million years.  Did I enjoy the evening?  Apart from the unpleasant envy I felt at realising  some of these musicians are young enough to be my children, yes.

I might be wrong

So, today is David Bowie's 66th birthday and to celebrate, he's released a new single - and why not?  I am something of a Bowie agnostic.  Apparently, I once tried to chat up a woman at a party by claiming to be a big Bowie fan (as she was) and dropped myself in it, by admitting that I'd never heard TVC15.  I say 'apparently' because I remembered nothing of the conversation after the party and was only told afterwards by a mutual friend (of the woman I was trying to chat up, not David Bowie).

I do, genuinely, own a couple of Bowie's albums, and find some of his work awesome; I also find a lot of it  pretentious untuneful tosh - I might be wrong.  Anyway, I've listened to his new single: I like the wistful chord changes, but I'm not sure about the lyrics; on the whole, it's enjoyable enough, if not exactly earth-shattering (but see my earlier caveat about the 'pretentious untuneful tosh' comment).

The video is the most striking thing.  Bowie appears yoked to a woman said to look like Bjork.  I didn't see the Bjork resemblance: to me, this woman looks like Yoko Ono, particularly in her attachment to a famous musician.  Towards the end, Bowie sings 'so long as there's me', which is followed (in no way predictably) by 'so long as there's you' - the whole thing reminds me of Lennon's 'God', although I might (as previously hinted) be wrong.

I don't know if there's any significance in this; I suspect David Bowie is just having a laugh at our expense - and why not?  Anyway, Mr B, if you're reading this, happy birthday, whatever your intentions.

Update: It seems that I am a bigger Bowie fan than I realised.  I have just taken this quiz on the Guardian's website and scored 9 out of 10.  This, apparently, entitles me to 'bore on' about Bowie.

Let's see if a shameless plug does the trick

I would just like to take this opportunity to plug the BBC's excellent, satirical radio show Newsjack.  I have a vested interest in this.  I have submitted several sketches to the programme over the last few years.  So far, I have had nothing broadcast.  Last week, however, I came close.  Something I had written (I don't know what) was recorded, but didn't make the transmission.  This is very flattering, although I don't get paid.  I have just submitted more material and would like all my readers to give the show a listen.  I can genuinely recommend the show, and if the producers trace the sudden surge in listeners back to me, it is possible they will pay me for the plug, if not the material.

You're welcome.

Dumbing Down

I recently had a conversation with some colleagues about ITV's deceased show Parkinson.  The gist of the conversation was that TV channels don't really broadcast shows like this anymore, because everything has become 'dumbed down'.  The only chat shows we have now are comedy shows such as The Graham Norton Show.  The particular lament was that there are no shows that feature people just talking.  Everything, it was suggested, is 'dumbed down' nowadays.

I feel slightly uneasy about this: it has certain reactionary undercurrent that makes me uncomfortable for one thing - the past was not indisputably better (or worse) the the present; real life is more complicated than that.  I have no evidence for this, however, but I do think that TV shows are more likely to feature small chunks of easily-digestible information than they did when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s.

One obvious explanation for this is that TV executives have ratings to maintain and don't like to risk audiences switching over part way through a show.  There were only 3 channels before 1982; now, I really have no idea, but the numbering on my Freeview box goes up to 999; we also have games' consoles, a plethora of radio channels, not to mention fabulous websites, such as Twitter, You Tube or even Myoclonic Jerk (no link for obvious reasons).

My one colleague felt that this substantiated his argument about the 'dumbing down' of culture.  People get so used to changing channels or surfing to new websites that no one can concentrate on anything demanding.  In the past, he suggested, people would watch shows such as Parkinson, perhaps because there was nothing else on, or perhaps because they were only interested in one guest.  Whatever the reason, the show was on and that person might learn something unexpected.  This is a possibility, but is is equally possible that people had the show on in the background, while they talked about the football, beat up the kids or did whatever people did in the 70s.  I'm not entirely sure we are a more stupid society because people can look for something they want to engage with.

There has been some research on the neurological effects of internet usage, but nothing conclusive yet. It is perhaps inevitable that those of us who grew up without internet access and more TV channels than we can easily count feel uncomfortable with it.  I'm pretty sure my parents' generation (who didn't really get into TV until adolescence) felt that my generation were stupid because we watched too much TV (but not Parkinson, which was on after our bedtime).

Ultimately, it is not the medium that leads to 'dumbing down' (if such a thing exists).  Look at this You Tube Channel, pick a video and watch it all the way through.  You might enjoy it; you might learn something; or, you might be bored out of your mind: whatever happens, don't make the mistake of blaming the internet or cable TV for 'dumbing down'.  As I said at the beginning of this blog, real life is a bit more complicated than that.