'F' (2010)

Exams approach apace. I've got my dates, so in only a couple of months I will be sat in a room lost in an equal mix of terror and concentration. I am a little behind - there is a seminar, which officially ends today, in which I have not yet contributed. So why am I writing here? What could possibly be so important that I take time away from study?

Well, yesterday, as I was resting, I watched a film. And I think it ranks as the worst film I have ever seen because it was both the least well constructed and potentially the most damaging. And so I wanted to warn the world.

Firstly, I must admit that I quite like 'bad' fiction. I've watched Neighbours for a very long time. I like soap opera narrative. In some ways it is the most life-like narrative in its sheer daftness. There's lots of scope for people to be silly, cowardly and to procrastinate about subjects they should just get on and deal with. So very much like our daily lives.

I also like horror. I believe that Zombie films (especially the work of George A Romero) are a very useful and uplifting thing to watch. Indeed, on the evening after my grandmother's funeral I chose to watch Dawn of the Dead (1978). In the Zombie world things are broken down a bit - responsibilities are quite clear. And what's more, Romero zombies are relatively benign - it is always human frailty, greed and selfishness which leads to destruction.

Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) is a great film. It was partly inspired by Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968), but it's definitely not a zombie film. The forces bearing down on the beleaguered police station are anything but benign. It takes a concerted effort to fight off the violent Street Thunder gang members. But at the same time, they have to keep a unified front in their defending group of police officials and previously incarcerated criminals. The silenced weapons used by the Street Thunder gang and the blood oath they've sworn in vengeance, not to mention the creepy way they're shot moving outside the station, gives a slightly supernatural feeling. It is unsettling, exciting and, like Zombie films, to me at least, very uplifting.

So yesterday, in part because it uses a similar premise to AoP13, I watched the British film 'F' (2010).

The basic idea is that a teacher, traumatised by a brief but violent assault by a child, then has to deal with a mass assault of faceless 'hoodies' on a school whilst trying to keep his wayward daughter safe.

Part of me was wary - school violence is a tricky subject, especially in the UK where there have been far fewer acts of extreme violence than, say, the US. My father was an OFSTED inspector and worked in some problem schools, so I know a lot about the issue of student assaults on teachers. He would get injury lists with some of the rougher schools. So I remember distinctly reading about teachers being kneecapped etc.

But here's my first issue with the film - reasons and consequences. It is true that in life not everything that happens has an easily definable reason. People are assaulted in the street for no reason. It happens a lot around here.

They are *always* carried out by one or two people off their heads on something. They are always done to a single person on their own or a couple (hetero/homosexual). And there still is a reason to this - the reason being that the attacker is a bit of a psycho-loser.

In 'F' we see only two bits of violence with any kind of reason to them - one is the original assault on the teacher, triggered by an 'F' grade and accompanying sarcastic comment. In doing this, the teacher breaches official policy. This is made into a PC Health and Safety style rant. Why can't the teacher give an 'F'? And why can't he say these things? Well, these are very important questions - but they're not really addressed. All we see is a grumpy old man getting a head-but.

The other act of reasoned violence is the slapping of the wayward daughter by her alcoholic, teacher father. This is reasoned away as being appropriate because she was mouthing off in a disrespectful manner. More (much much much more) on this later.

The rest of the violence is reasonless. One review I read of this film (in the Guardian, no less) said that the gang assault on the school was led by the child who assaulted the teacher at the beginning of the film. This is never ever shown. We never see the faces of the 'hoodies'. They are deliberately blacked out. No one says anything. No 'this'll teach you for doing x'. No motive. Nothing. Now, as I said, this is fine if you're dealing with a few psycho-losers, as that psycho-loseriness is their motivation. But this group of hoodies is silently coordinated, acting with great grace, speed and purpose. To do this they'd need a lot of planning, equipment and communication.

The other option would have been to make them supernatural enemies. Indeed, I think they were trying to suggest this (a little like the subtle supernatural feel of the enemy in AoP13). It fails completely. Whenever they're on screen there is a truly annoying distorted playground 'lalala' music. You never see their deliberately blacked out faces. They are silent and graceful. And their violence is extreme and also apparently lacking a motive. In this way they'd make a great supernatural force. But in order for that to work you'd need to have some hint to solidify them as a supernatural force. Maybe some question as to their reality (a lack of reflection, say - or someone not being able to see them). Indeed, at one point I wondered whether the big reveal would be that the violence had all been carried out by the alchie teacher and the faceless force had all been in his head. But no. No subtlety, no explanation, no reason.

This is dangerous. The entire point of this kind of film filters back to the stuff I'm studying. Tragedy has a reason. People do the wrong thing. They exceed mortal bounds. They strike out at the gods. They transgress and are punished. All of the (sometimes just as extreme) violence is justified by, what can be an unfair, set of rules and regulations. By watching the tragedy unfold, we the audience learn a lesson. This is what makes great tragedy.

What AoP13 does which is so clever is that the violence is due to police action which has relatively nothing to do with those trapped inside. They are innocent parties caught up in the responsibilities of others. And they fight against it. This makes them heroes. Bringing in another classical reference - they are Hectors, fighting for Troy when the reason for the battle is Paris' abduction of Helen.

The story, lacking a reason, completely loses track of the audience. There is nothing to be fought against, nothing to be overcome. There can be no climactic boss battle between Alcoholic Teacher and Violent Pupil where the violence is reversed (indeed, he does kill a 'hoodie', but this is lacking any emotional content due to the eternally faceless nature of the enemy - he might as well have stabbed a hat stand). Likewise, as there is no link between teacher and hoodies, there can be no growth for the teacher - he cannot apologise for his actions or gain forgiveness.

Much more interesting would have been an attack on a teacher who had been abusive (possibly sexually) against a group of boys who then get together to get excessive revenge. Alternatively, the faceless assault on the school could have been shorter and led to them being tracked down and punished by the aggrieved teacher. But no luck. There is no resolution. The teacher leaves the school with his injured daughter, leaving his wife to die. Everyone else gets got. It is pointless.

But my biggest problem by far was its misogynistic nature. I've been made more aware of this kind of thing by doing my Women in Ancient History degree. But I have always been quite smug because no matter how silly Aristotle was, he's been dead for quite a while now and we've evolved.

Apparently not.

There are five female characters;

Librarian
Head Teacher
Gym Teacher?
Mother
Daughter

Oh, and I've just remembered - there was a male/female pairing of police officers. Guess what happened to them?

The librarian is a caring character who tries to look after the alcoholic teacher. I like her character and can't complain - but her death is anonymous and nameless and lost.

The Head Teacher seems to earn her death by not heeding the warning given to her by the alcoholic teacher about the downed telephone lines. She also pays for not supporting him after the initial assault and effectively 'siding' with the parents of the boy who want to sue. Confronted by the boys she's not even capable of calling the police - she just waves her phone at them.

Now, I am not 100% certain, but I guess that the character who hardly looked long out of college herself was a gym teacher. When I first saw her, I expected her to become a rape victim. Jogging on the treadmill? Sure sign that someone's going to rip some of your clothes off. But I hadn't realised that these characters would have no apparent motivation. So no rape, but the most extreme violence is still kept for her (a word was cut into her exposed stomach, more cuts are inflicted on her thighs, and the lower part of her face is removed) and left crawling away from the toilets in which she was attacked).

The Daughter,as well as being slapped by her father, is stabbed in the stomach whilst trying to save him.

The Mother is left alone in the school, presumably, we are left to believe, to be killed in an horrific way.

Women are nothing but victims. They have no chance. Admittedly three men are also killed (one burnt to death, but the other two we don't see dead, just on the way to it), but less screen time is taken over this. The violence against women is glorified in. There is no chance that any of them will be proactive. They don't get angry. They just crumble and weep.

What's more (much much much more) the slapping of the daughter is effectively explained away through her bad behaviour. She's then shown willing on a bruise so she can then use this against her father. But everything is forgiven when he comes to find her and she effectively gives up her life saving him from the knife attack. He then tries to save her, but in so doing, sacrifices his wife.

So violence against a child is ok if they're being really mouthy and you save them after. No repercussions for the teacher in any way. Other than the death of his ex who's already left him. No sign of guilt from him...but then as there's no apparent link to him, there wouldn't need to be.

So all the potential power of the plot is lost. The humanity of the hoodies being removed (and by the way, the exclusively white cast vs the blacked out faces of the hoodies? The racial element, though never actually said, was equally worrying). No supernatural basis to compensate for this. No responsibility, consequence or explanation. And no resolution. Just the teacher driving away with his wounded daughter. An over-long look into his eyes from the rear-view mirror. A scene which would work wonderfully well in a film respecting the psychological process of character and narrative. But here it just exposes everything that was weak and shallow. I.E. the entire thing.

No, that's unfair - some of the shots of the school and the people were beautifully done. The shallow depth of field was very nice and I liked some of the colour tones.

So really, do yourself a favour and don't ever watch it. Spend the 80 minutes. or whatever it was, contemplating the nature of responsibility and consequences in life. It'll be better for your soul.

It's Love. No doubt.

This Valentine's Day I have watched the end of season 4 of The Wire with Deborah. Not traditional romantic fare, perhaps, but compelling it is. And certainly not without love themes. Indeed, love is the driving force of several characters and, at times, the plot itself. So with less than half an hour left of the 14th, I thought I'd write a bit about the love I've seen. All that I write is without knowledge of what happens in the fifth and final season. So be kind if you know more than I!

I will start with the example which links most to my degree - the Spartan love we see in Omar. Omar; beloved of Obama and, well, anyone with any taste. He is quite clearly a Spartan warrior - intelligent and fearless in equal measure, his younger male lovers learn from him and grow in their own violent education. Their mutual love makes them more powerful than the gangsters on whom they prey and, indeed, means that any death is revenged. Love is his power.

We see a similar, if less powerful, version of this in the comradeship in both dealers and police. Gangs, when working properly (i.e. prior to season four and the extreme violence of Marlo's reign) show men working together and looking out for one another. Likewise, police look after their own. But most interestingly in this season you see police and gang members come together in their shared experience...almost a shared love of their city. So Bunny and Wee-Bey are able to communicate and understand each other. And this understanding allows them to act in a way that encourages the growth of Namond into a good man away from the violence of the corner.

Familial love, though, is not always positive. We see Brianna unknowingly force D'Angelo into a position that leads to his destruction. Bubble tries to create a family of sort with Sherrod, but, in the tradition of great classical tragedy, thanks to events outside of his control, kills him. These failures of love contrast with the positive family lives shown in Bunny, Beadie etc.

Talking of Beadie, she represents a redemptive love which is surprisingly rare in the narrative arch of The Wire. And I would not be surprised at all if it doesn't last. Even so, living with Beadie and moving away from the moral problems of detective work, McNulty is able to find redemption and happiness...even peace.

Finally, proper romantic love can be found. Daniels' romance with Rhonda is both touching and powerful. They complete each other and benefit from each other's qualities. It could be argued that this is as redemptive for Rhonda as McNulty's is for him. In this case, though, the relationship feels stronger. Neither character feels a need to change their lives in order to change themselves. They recognise the truth of each other and love each other for that.

This is in no way an end to the love shown in the programme. The love of chess, for example (that scene from the first season was so well formed I will never forget it), the love of traditional work shown by the stevedores, the love of power and respect, and the love of mumbling shown by Marlo and his crew. But it's now the 15th and I must sleep.

Here's hoping that wherever you are and whatever you have been doing, that your day has been filled with the very best kinds of love.

One Month Before Heartbreak: Judgement Day

Cross-posted at Diary of a Goldfish

The musings of a pair of rather tired disability benefit claimants communicating via IM trying to raise awareness and support in light of the government consultation into DLA reform. Read if you dare...

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Goldfish: A few months ago, I mentioned to my new GP that my DLA was up for renewal. He warned me that if I got turned down, I shouldn't take it personally - he knew many people who were being refused now, despite having very severe impairments. I know not to take it personally, of course, and yet the current system, political rhetoric, media coverage and the tone of proposed reforms are such that anything we have to do with disability benefits feels very very personal.

Stephen: And indeed it is personal. As much as it'd be nice to live in a communists utopia, we need money to live and as such are reliant upon national insurance to pay out for our survival. But not only that, we, the disabled, are made to jump through hoops to determine whether or not we're capable of work. Which is especially galling when the hoop jumping can be as difficult or impossible as work.

Goldfish: "The disabled"? You're proposing to put this on my blog, honey.

Stephen: You know me - I call a spade a shovel. Dear reader, please forgive my horrendous grasp of correct terminology. I care about you all deeply, even though I'm insulting you at the same time.

Goldfish: Anyway.

Stephen: Anyway.

Goldfish: I think another thing which makes it so personal is the fact that politicians talk about the workshy and other variations on the undeserving poor, the media take that a step further and render most of us scroungers or cheats, but then people around us use the same language - worse language even than "the disabled". They talk about welfare cuts as a universally good thing because of the scroungers, because of the so-called disabled. And if they notice your discomfort, they insist that they don't mean people like you.

What they don't realise is that almost all claimants are people like you, and me. And we're not magically protected from the effect of cuts just because they happen to consider us worthy of protection.

Stephen: Okay okay not so subtle point taken. People who might not be quite so able but who are still dashingly handsome and/or ravishingly beautiful are, indeed, clumped together. I mean, the DLA form itself is only really relative just so long as you stick to a certain set of disabilities. If you're outside of those pre-defined multiple choice answers then you have to write a huge amount to try to explain why you don't fit in and yet why you still need this money.

Goldfish: And I imagine most people are outside those boxes; most disabled people aren't full-time wheelchair users, don't experience total blindness or deafness etc..

Stephen: Do you think that the forms mirror public perception? The good disabled person who's deserving of the money that they so generously donate from their children's piggy banks is the one who answers all those questions by ticking the top most box (and who, sadly, but also thankfully, might not live too long and so not be a long term financial drain)?

Goldfish: In fairness, I don't think the public feels very generous towards those who tick the top box of the mental health questions.

Stephen: True...as we saw recently in the aftermath of the Giffords shooting. The stance of Sheriff Dupnik was that the world was a safer place with the mentally ill locked up rather than integrated into the community. So our ideal disabled victim (because surely they are a victim - of a random virus, a terrible car accident [just so long as they didn't cause it] or, if possible, falling from a height whilst trying to save a poor little girl and her kitten from a tree house fire) is a full time wheelchair user, possibly also blind, very grateful and entirely sane. Is that even possible?

I'm not sure I'd be that sane after all that bad luck.

Goldfish: *rolls eyes

Stephen: What?

Goldfish: I will have to apologise to any heroic blind wheelchair-users who pass by my blog now.

In any case, we were talking about this issue of how difficult it is not to take this stuff personally. You've been trying to sort out your exam conditions for your final university exams.

(Do you like the subtlety there? - I should work on daytime TV.)

Stephen: Indeed. I'm studying for a BA in Classics via distance learning. Because of the setup, it's 100% exam graded. As you can imagine, that means that come exam time there's a considerable amount of pressure. Indeed, for the last few months I've been hell to live with, isn't that right, Darling?

Goldfish: Hades, sweetheart - I thought it was Hades?

Stephen: I've failed already. Anyway, because I'm a person who might not be quite so able but who is still dashingly handsome and/or ravishingly beautiful (or a PWmnbqsAbwisDH/RB to those in the know) I need some help when it comes to exam time. I get to take my exam locally, for example, rather than having to travel to London. And I am able to use a computer keyboard rather than handwrite. And in order to qualify for these I have to get a doctor's letter explaining that I'm a PWmnbqsAbwisDH/RB and so should be allowed these things. In my first year the system was so poorly set up that I wasn't aware as to whether I was going to get the special arrangements or not until two days before the exam.

So although I got the help I needed to make my chances as fair as the next wannabe classicist, I had a considerable amount of extra stress that none of the other candidates did.

Goldfish: (Incidentally, dear reader, he has not been at all difficult, only has occasional flashes of self doubt, such as "I've failed already." What this man doesn't know about the motivations of Ajax when he set upon his "wooly captives" is not worth knowing. )

(That's the lesser Ajax, by the way. Or is it the greater one?)

Stephen: (Greater)

Goldfish: (Okay)

Stephen: (You know when I said could you take the exam for me..?)

Goldfish: Anyway

You were trying to make sure the exam conditions were sorted for this May, love. And like any large institution, the wheels were turning very slowly...

Stephen: Yes. I had been told that there would be no need to reapply, but things have changed and now I have to get a new doctor's letter. Of course, getting an appointment with the GP isn't that easy and I've got that booked for just over a week away. The expectation was that I should be able to get a letter posted off to them instantly, so straight away I wasn't conforming with the idea of what I should be doing.

Then there was the issue of a local exam centre. If you're one of the idealised disabled, the process of getting to London *shouldn't* be a problem. But for me it's impossible.

But the problem is...the people in the special needs department haven't specifically questioned these things. They just mentioned them (in, I think it's fair to say, a rather clumsy way. Even more clumsy than my terminology. Yeah, I know, I didn't think it was possible either). The problem is that I feel under pressure to conform to ideas of what I should be capable of doing. I feel that I am being judged. And, well, I *am* being judged. Someone has to look at my medical evidence and say whether what I'm asking is appropriate. But that's a horrible position to be in. Especially when I am actually paying for the privilege of taking the degree!

By the way, dear reader, Deborah's just popped to the loo. So we're alone now. We can talk about whatever we want! Have you seen the new Mercedes SLK? What do you think of the front end redesign? I'm afraid it's a bit too clunky to me. that sort of front heaviness works on the SLS, but then that's an entirely different vehicle...

Goldfish: Sweetheart, I think you are getting distracted.

Stephen: Er...yes, maybe.

Goldfish: When you got that e-mail from the Special Needs people, you said that you felt that they were suspicious of you?

Stephen: Yes. Well, just the act of asking again. When you're living with something, especially a disability, it leaves you very sensitive to any mention of it. Or it does me. Being told that they would collect the information so that they could make the 'right decision' upset me. What is the right decision? Is it right for me? For the university? For the world in general?

And what's right got to do with it?

If the world were right I'd not have to be dealing with extra process to get to a point of equality.

Goldfish: And I tried to reassure you that they probably weren't suspicious of you, just clumsy and uncreative in the way big institutions often are. But this is how we're made to feel. Like every need, however simple, has to be justified.

And this is the case in many areas. Lilwatchgirl is going through this with Access to Work, you've got this with your exam conditions, but I think it all comes down to the way that we talk about disability in society.

And so much of that is to do with politics, and so long as disabled people are a political scapegoat, so long as money-saving measures are so often focussed on us and how expensive we are, then people are going to think that it is the natural order of things that we have to justify our existence in that society.

Review - Cibelle and Julia Nunes

To follow my very out of date film review, I have a pair of albums which have caught my ear recently. In fact, while I’ve been working through Sophoclean tragedy, two ladies have been warbling on my speakers.

I’m a huge fan of antifolk and the New Weird America movement. It was through listening to Davendra Banhart that I came across a singer called Cibelle. The pair sang together on their track London, London which I found on youtube. From there I listened to tracks from her album The Shine of Dried Electric Leaves (yes, the title itself deserves attention). The first track, Green Grass, is very special indeed: a breathy dream of lost love, sinking into a plant-filled modern landscape. It is the closest thing I’ve found in modern music to a Sappho poem.

And she has a new album out! And what’s more, the title’s even better! Las Venus Resort Palace Hotel is both the name and the fictional location in which the songs take place. It is the last refuge of a world which has crumbled away

‘...a rock floating in space with a jungle on top and the ocean dripping into nowhere...’

She sings as Sonja Khalecallon in the voice of traditional Exotica. But, unlike the subversive voice of much antifolk, Cibelle ne Sonja shows huge respect for the genre and its messages. Well, she does come from Brazil, and she seems to be trying to share a bit of her native sunshine and love.

Of course, this isn’t 100% successful off the bat. Some of the songs are just too sugared for my taste. Even though I appreciate the idea of covering a song from a Bond film, Underneath the Mango Tree had me raising an eyebrow. Although I do think, having listened to it a few times now, that it does set up the rest of the album nicely. It is followed by Man from Mars, a song which perfectly balances a gentle steel drum track, multi-layered, soaring vocals (had me in mind of a sweet-voiced swarm of parrots) and sympathetic trip-hop beats and samples.

Lightworks (cover of Raymond Scott’s original) feels dangerous and slinky – far more Bond-ish than Mango Tree, while The Gun and the Knife sounds remarkably like something from a Tarantino film. Mr and Mrs Grey has a wonderful beat (and, later on, an angry twangy western six string) reminding me equal parts of Rasputina and Lilly Allen’s Not Fair.

I think, for me, the standout songs are half way through and are scarily diverse. Sad Piano is just as dreamy and beautiful as Green Grass but with a much darker tone. Heartbreaking is most definitely the word. But my main problem is that, as a connoisseur of bad jokes, I can’t help but hear her sing “I have a small piano” which does somewhat ruin it.

The main theme of Frankenstein makes me think of Ice Age or some other quest narrative animated film, but most important is the totally catchy rhythm and cyperpunk lyrics which cannot fail to lift the heart.

Love like science and alchemy

tonight the nightclubs are poetry

I need a lightning bolt to his heart

to kick-start my Frankenstein soul

Escute Bem sees Cibelle hit some notes that remind me of Beth Gibbons at her very best, coupled with great electronic noises and an exotic feel. It really is like doing the tango with a triple breasted prostitute on the surface of mars. And yes, I have been drinking.

You don’t need to have drunk anything, though, to find her cover of It’s Not Easy Being Green anything less than charming. What a way to end the album! It’s relatively low key, but with added sparkle. Kermit in a tutu, perhaps.

So what can you say? As a concept album it works absolutely perfectly, painting an image of the last chance saloon of exotica slowly crumbling into a void. As much as some songs are completely uplifting and transformative, I am left worrying about the relatively drab surroundings just outside my window. Perhaps it’s time to search ebay for a feather headdress...

Spotify link for the album.

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My next warbler was also happened upon on youtube, although in this case it was entirely by accident. Julia Nunes is one of those sickeningly talented young people that make you want to take up drinking whiskey just so you can complain about them in a suitably gnarled voice. She started at the age of 13 and more recently has been writing albums and compiling rather splendid music videos on youtube which demonstrate not just great talent and an ear for a good cover, but also show her great sense of humour and zest for life.

The first video I came across was her cover of Why Do You Build Me Up, Buttercup and on that occasion, I believe I played it through five times. Yes, I know, I’m boring like that. Seriously, take a look through her video stream – you won’t be disappointed.

Today, though, I’ve been listening to her album I Wrote These...which is made of songs that I believe she wrote. Now, I have a bit of a problem here, as I’m abnormally attracted to a cover. So I was a little worried to see how she’d go about constructing an album.

My first impressions were not bad, however. I’ve heard criticism of Cibelle’s voice, saying that it’s not really up to anything more than the fun twiddly bits but gets lost when you chuck a strong tune at it (a rather harsh and unfair criticism in my opinion), but Julia Nunes’ voice is, well, not the antithesis, as she can twiddle as good as the next person, but she has an extremely strong voice which holds a tune (and attention) with ease.

My only criticism was that one of two of the songs felt a little too strong...almost overpowering, in fact. But this is probably just a youth thing, with my poor elderly earlobes unable to keep up. I personally think, though, that she really shines with some of the gentler tracks: especially those which are ukulele-centric.

There’s been a bit of a resurgence in the ukulele business recently (probably because Deborah and I made one. What can I say? We’re trend setters.). But the humble uke has lost a little of its cheeky ‘jumping flea’ character, gaining a more off-key half-drunk weepiness (which I blame entirely on ER and the death scene of Mark Greene). Julia gets rid of this with a big smile and some cracking lyrics. And this is where I feel that Cibelle and Julia Nunes are so linked – they both feel related to a scene that’s too cool for a lot of the genuine sentiment from which their genres originate, and yet they bring a lot of that original light and joy back with the benefit of genre evolution.

I must also quickly point out that her lyrics are very important. I’m not usually too bothered by lyrics – in fact, I often never hear them, just listen to the sounds and enjoy them as such. But there’s something about the crispness of Julia’s voice and the emotion that she puts into things that really brings out the quirky poetry of her words. So I’ll be quoting a few for you.

Binoculars is my favourite of her guitar tracks. It gives voice to the humble neighbourhood peeping tom. No, really. ‘Please don’t be creeped out by me / you’re my miniature TV’ is perhaps my favourite line. It demonstrates perfectly her sense of humour. In fact, it reminds me very much of some Ben Folds work. And again, you must check the video.

Keeping with the guitar theme, Pen to Paper is an interesting one. There’s a very strong beat, and I like how the song is divided up into sections. But again, I’m drawn to her narrative! I can’t help it, really. It has got one of the best relationship-type lyrics since Emmy the Great sang;

I thought romance was pretty, then you went and spoiled it

Every time that I think of you, have to go to the toilet

Can’t tell if this is love or a stomach disorder

Or a massive grade-a typhoon inside my aorta

Julia’s romance is slightly less definite but certainly less icky;

I saw you ‘cross the room

we never really spoke but still I knew that

you and me were meant to be

close if not romantically

The Debt is a wonderful ukulele piece where the bouncy rhythm is helped along with various layered vocal effects and trills and is, perhaps, other than the harsher songs, one of the only ones where I’ve paid less attention to the lyrics. But I must confess - I actually bobbed. Yep, I almost dislocated something.

But the best song of the album without a doubt is Stairwell. It has the absolute perfect mix of wit, rhythm and tune. I’ll be whistling it for weeks to come at least. And what’s more, during those weeks it will never get annoying! Well, not to me, at least. I can’t speak for those who have to live nearby. Anyway, strangely enough, it’s perhaps the least cheery of all the songs. I mean, the opening lines are;

I’m lying here on the floor just like the man on the yellow cone

I guess the floor was wet, so I'm cold and all alone

It turns out that the protagonist has been finding it hard to live and so decided that throwing themselves down the stairs might be a good idea. But I tell you, I’ve never heard someone that depressed carry a tune so well.

Spotify link for the album.

So there you are. Listen to them both. And thank me by showering me with gifts.

Crash (Bang Wallop)

It often takes me a while to see films. I can't get to cinemas and, anyway, I object to paying for things I might not enjoy. When it came to Crash, created by Paul Haggis (who also did Due South - one of my personal favourites) and winner of three Oscars (including Best Picture), I had very few excuses. It had been available on dvd and shown at least twice on television. Still, I'd heard some raves and some rumbles and this is often enough to put me off. Indeed Deborah told me that she thought it was utterly disappointing.

But you know what men are like, so I watched it with every hope that Deb was wrong. How silly I was.

I believe that one of the things that most impressed people was that Crash speaks of racism in new ways. Well, that's great. But then, there's not been a film about cars which talks about the chemical properties of the magnetorheological fluid used in the dampers of some posh cars. There's a very good reason *why* a film has been made about cars which speaks in this voice. It's because the voice is one of those nasal ones that says 'actually' a lot. And yes, I've been known to slip into that voice at times.

Racism is a massive issue. It's possibly hard having grown up in Surrey to entirely relate to the America of this film. At my primary school there were perhaps one or two black pupils and only one Asian girl that I can remember. And yet this didn't seem to breed any 'racism' as such. In many ways they seemed to be quite popular having these differences.

But I'm not entirely removed from racism in this mainly white corner of Britain. I live near Slough which is famed for its racial tension. There are schools in which the pupils were said to cheer when 9/11 took place. There are also instances of gang violence between different races. And yes, there is also a strong distinction between the poor areas of immigration and the extremely rich areas of privilege. No doubt there is prejudice on both sides.

But I do not believe that there is universal racism. I don't believe that every single person in that area of the UK has racist views. And I don't believe that to be the case in the US either.

I think the idea of the film is fundamentally flawed. I get the impression that someone said 'ok, we're going to make one of those films where everything is interconnected. Now all we need is a theme...'. Racism was picked. And so every character and event has to relate to the theme of racism. But that's not how the world works.

The world has so many motives and ideas and thoughts and feelings that to limit them creates an artificial world. And to try to explore an issue as important as racism in a realistic environment in this way just does not work. I'm reminded of Seuss and the Sneetches. It's ok to simplify the world into Sneetches with stars and those without because it's not a real world. It makes the matter clear without denying the complexities of the real world.

Deborah has informed me that she blogged about Crash a long time ago, and in her blog she says;

It would have made for a better film had it included some suggestion as to how this human misery could be resolved; instead it actually suggested that whilst racism is not the exclusive domain of monsters, there’s not a lot that can be done about it.

This is very important. Seuss teaches by showing us a world where racism is institutional and unavoidable. It's only through their mutual swindling that they learn that racism is silly. The audience, though, aren't expected to tackle racism in the real world by inventing some race-on race-off machine. They are shown an error in a fictional world and so can relate the message to the real world.

Crash, as Deborah says, has no idea of resolution. "It's a bad thing", the film says...but that's it. That's only the first few lines of the Sneetches story!

I also object to the abusive cop. His molestation of a woman is explained away as being the result of having to look after a disabled father. Excuse me? It seems that there's no real explanation of racism, but it's ok to explain a sexual assault? Yes, it's difficult to live with someone who's ill, especially when you're not recieving the proper help and support. People can snap. But snap by sexually assaulting someone?

And so many of these scenes were exploitative. I felt like I'd perpetrated all these horrendous acts. I felt dirty. And although I get that that may have been the point of the film, it lacks any sort of catharsis. And I'm too much of a classicist to let that go.

Food Glorious Food

Deborah recently wrote a wonderful blog post about weight-loss. In it she mentioned my love of (frugal) cookery, so I thought I might write a little about it here.

Long before I fell ill, I developed a series of food allergies and intolerances. My symptoms are in no way life threatening, but some (notably some food colourings and dairy products) can be very nasty indeed. To this day I am very nervous of things that make me dizzy because, having had a great many Easter eggs under doctors orders, I had a rather nasty fit at the age of 7 or so during which the entire world seemed to be spinning at a rate of knots.

I am also somewhat allergic to the wanton spending of cash. Especially when it's my own. I've tried to explain it away...but it's true. I'm tight. Clearance, Bargain and Value feature highly in my yearly account sheet. If I can save a few quid, even if it requires a bit of work, then I will do. While away from home recently to see a production of the Lysistrata (more on that in a later post), I ended up logged on to the internet, saving £2 on a dvd boxset. And it wasn't even for me.

This extends to my taste for food. It's not that I don't enjoy expensive food. I once had some extremely expensive champagne which was truly lovely. Smoked salmon is one of my favourites. And there's a date and walnut 'loaf' made by Pastilla Nash which is unbelievably nice.

My problem is that whilst consuming these delicacies, I can hear the pound coins rattle down my gullet and it can get in the way of the enjoyment. Something akin to going to Glyndebourne whilst listening to Gogol Bordello on your iPod *. If I can enjoy something and also have the warm feeling of frugality burning away in my heart, everything feels golden. Even if it is only 9ct plated.

So here are the cheap cooking tips I will share for free. Further information will be available in the forthcoming cook book 'Frugal Food'.

• Get a slow cooker - cheap on fuel as well as being easy to use with cheap cuts of meat. Try slow cooked liver with a spicy tomato sauce. Plenty of onions and peppers.

• Don't be afraid of the Value range - sometimes value means plain awful or unethically produced. There is no point saving money if you're trampling on your ethics or making food that's just not good. But often value food is just graded products. Mushrooms that are funny shapes and sizes, for example, are sold in nice big trays at tesco for a pittance. Sliced and diced these babies are just as lovely as their expensive brethren. Remember - never judge a book by it's cover.

• Cook BIG - it's often cheaper to cook in bulk and then freeze. When it comes to things like chili and curries, this can actually help the flavour. This also gets you into a mind-set where you're not ever going to waste any food - you're making as much as possible and then dividing it out into portions rather than making a little too much, popping the left over in the fridge and never getting around to finishing it.

• Be excited by food - it's easy to think that the only time that food is exciting is when visiting an expensive restaurant. Food is such a gift! There are so many exciting flavours. Those flavours can be combined. Textures then can be bought into the mix. And temperatures. And it's all in your power to explore it!

So lets get some examples of my own personal favourites;

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Rye Bread Bacon sandwich with onions, tomatoes and gherkin

The rye bread is made of 100% rye flour in a Panasonic bread maker. Smoked bacon is fried in a pan with no oil at all. Half a small red onion is sliced very finely indeed and added to the pan. A small tomato is also sliced and added at the point the onion is almost cooked. The rye bread is toasted and spread with a little mustard (english or wholegrain...preference would by the english for this dish) and then a single small gherkin (crunchier the better) is sliced and added on top of the bacon and onion/tomato relish type mix.

REMEMBER - for a sandwich to be good there should be no possible way of eating it without making a complete mess. If you have clean fingers at the end you're not trying hard enough.

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Smoked Salmon Omelette

Two eggs and two tablespoons of milk are whisked until frothy. Frothy eggs give a light omelette. In a small frying pan, fry off half a small red onion (the half you had left having done the sandwich the day before) with some oil from a jar of sun dried tomatoes. There are all manner of things you can add at this point. But I'd say the only essentials are a couple of sundried tomatoes chopped up and a mushroom sliced if you have it. Once they're cooked up, put in some tesco smoked salmon trimmings. Honestly, this is such a good idea - using up the scraps from the factory is doing everyone a favour, especially your wallet. Uncooked the trimmings can sometimes be not quite as enjoyable as the proper slices, but with this kind of thing they're perfect. Pour the eggs on top and jiggle everything about to get the eggs to the bottom of the pan. Add some cheese on top and wack under the grill. Serve with green salad.

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Fried River Cobbler / Basa Fish

River Cobbler (also known as Basa Fish) is farmed mainly in Vietnam and looking at a photo might put you off trying it. I have a few problems with the food miles involved, but at the same time, the farming of this fish is giving villages an industry and I approve of that. I also approve of the fish which has a firm flesh which is very hard to ruin. I enjoy frying fish which I've cut down to small fish finger sized portions, marinated in the juice of a lemon with a generous teaspoon of cayenne pepper and then coated with some seasoned cornflour. Again, I make more than I could possibly use and then freeze what's left. It can then be popped under the grill. Trust me - a fish finger sandwich done with this is absolutely out of this world. And a note on fish finger sandwiches - they may be expensive, but if you want to treat yourself, buy some capers. Just six or seven in a fish finger sandwich add such a little lift.

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Bon apetit!

*Not that I have an iPod. I have a Sony MP3 player which I bought partly because it was much better value.

Dreams to Dream

I am a prolific dreamer. It is, simply, one of my best and one of my worst traits.

It reflects my creativity, both narrative and imagery. It allows me to escape the worst bits of the world when I have to. And when I don't, I can sometimes use my dreamy nature to help lift some of the more boring parts of life and make them enjoyable.

But there's also a down side. It's easy to lose one's train of thought or, even worse, for that train of thought to be derailed without you realising and to spend what should be a time of serious and intense study when you should be applying yourself utterly to analysing the sexual nature of the god Dionysus (really...I was reading about it only the other week), studying with equal fervor the results of Strictly Come Dancing or weather trends. Not helpful to a Classics degree.

But worse still are the nightmares. There's nothing I can really say to make them funny. Well, maybe I can, but the jokes are hollow and cold. The first pain related nightmare I had involved a giant turtle biting off my leg. The image is ridiculous and should be laughed at....but I just can't raise the smile.

Tonight was one of the worst. It was a beautifully developed piece of terror with better narrative construction than most classic horror films. Pacing and build up were perfect. And the overlapping of supernatural and entirely natural psycho killer story arches built into a horrible climax. Although thankfully I didn't reach the end. I woke up, feeling like I'd been dreaming for days...holding my face, half of which had just been burnt off by the previously mentioned psycho killer.

And so I have been awake for well over an hour now. The quiet dark time feeling the flood of adrenalin fade away. My stomach begins to settle. And my pounding hot heart delights at the sinking coldness of the air. I can feel the frost outside and the cold light of dawn is replacing the distant orange light of street lamps.

Dreams to dream...thank you very much Linda Ronstadt.