horrifying movies and horrible errors

A friend from our King's College Cambridge days, who later became an eminent Professor of Psychology, recently sent me a dvd of M R James's finest ghost story, Oh Whistle And I'll Come To You, My Lad. This was made for BBC tv in the 1960s (minus the first and last 2 words of the original title), filmed quite beautifully at that, in monochrome and presumably on a minimal budget, by yet another Cambridge alumnus, Jonathan Miller. It's short, only 50 minutes or so, but a terrific performance by Michael Hordern is central to the film, which manages to be creepy, poetic, imaginatively suspenseful, psychologically fascinating and true to its original source. Dr Miller, before he turned into the portentous panjandrum of latter years, must have grown sick of being lauded for Beyond The Fringe and this marvellous little film… But those were after all perfect achievements of a high order, unusually provocative entertainments at their best. So it was good to see the film again after so long, and to realise that over two generations later it hadn't dated one iota – crisp and creepy as ever: thanks for sending it, Dr Halliday!

Contrast this minor classic with a "major movie" such as The Shining, which I also saw again the other day. Inflated budget and length, very high-tech for its day, boasting a riveting if outrageously over the top central performance from Jack Nicholson, in full colour, full volume all the way… And yet by the end, how disappointing, even boring. Certainly unsatisfactory and short on shock, with every gory episode overdone and underlined. Stanley Kubrick now seems a rather overrated director, apart from his earlier monochrome, low-budget movies, Killer's Kiss, The Killing and Paths of Glory. These, though derivative in various respects, all packed a punch and showed imagination alongside the hysteria and violence depicted. High quality black and white photography and youthful energy won the day. Money, attention to detail and stars and gloss can't rescue The Shining from being something of a horrid mess – as were Kubrick's later films, for the most part. But those early, less pretentious works should be enjoyed and remembered however, along with the grotesque fantasy Dr Strangelove. He also offered some friendly support and encouragement to genuine talents like Stuart (Overlord) Cooper and Kevin Brownlow during their own youthful directorial struggles: Stanley K. seems to have been, by different accounts, either a warmly generous, meticulous craftsman or a coldly dictatorial, eccentric obsessive. But then perhaps nearly all the most individual filmmakers display a wild and weird mixture of divergent and/or extreme character traits?

two kinds of reading

Last week, 3rd December, I did a 2nd launch of Haiku Of Five Decades at Joel Segal's excellent secondhand  bookshop in the high street of Topsham, that very attractive if somewhat dormitorial estuary suburb of Exeter. This proved very enjoyable, and though the rain was lashing down (it's rained almost every day and night this month, so far!) about 40 people showed up during the evening and quite a few bought quite a few books. Good to see some old friends among the new faces, some of whom hadn't been able to get to the earlier event in mid-October. And I managed to confirm what my late poet friend Patricia Beer, a stickler for proper West Country pronunciation, once told me years ago, that it's "Tops-Ham" not "Topshum"!

As for the second kind of reading, the kind one does by and for and to oneself, I caught up recently with Edward W. Said's last and alas posthumously published book, On Late Style. This wonderful collection of essays on music and literature, is as stimulating, wise and concise as you'd expect from such a prolific, perceptive and committed writer. The concept of 'lateness' in art that Said tries to define and describe includes the likes of Richard Strauss, Glenn Gould, Jean Genet, Cavafy, Adorno, Beethoven, Mozart, Visconti, Lampedusa and others. Said, as Palestinian, polymath and insightful cultural critic, was a truly impressive figure who will be much missed. This unusual book is part of an enduring and properly provocative testament: highly recommended!

politics and film

I was bewildered today (Friday 27th Nov) to hear several mentions on Radio 4 and the World Service of "the Israeli-led blockade [sic] of Gaza".  Dare one ask precisely who is 'following' where the Israelis lead? Seems like it's the BBC!

But enough on corrupt politics, dodgy reporting and rhetoric, and the manifest abuses of power: let's have far more political honesty, humanism and cinematic artistry. In these last three areas a couple of previously rare, quite brilliant screen gems by Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo are now available in painstakingly restored copies on DVD, along with some witty and revealing interviews. The two films in question are It Happened Here (1956-64, not released till 1966)) and Winstanley (1975) With beautiful black and white cinematography, and movingly acted, for the most part by non-professionals, both films reflect the idealism, energy and youthful enthusiasm of their makers. Yet it's amazing that either was made at all: what with minuscule budgets, low or no salaries, and meticulous, authentic period-design (for the 1940s and 1640s respectively), and filming always on location and generally part-time! Indeed, it's clear that their making involved a quasi-fanatical commitment and obsessive determination against the odds. As to the dramatic subject matter of these films, whose own production histories are as extraordinary and fascinating as the violent eras of upheaval they deal with, I'll say no more here except to urge everyone to make the effort to see them. They surely rank with the best and most poetic British cinema of the past 50 years, alongside the work of such creative, independent spirits as Bill Douglas and Terence Davies.

Also recommended are Kevin Brownlow's memoir, How It Happened Here (1968), recently reissued, and his masterly personal chronicle of the silent screen, The Parade's Gone By (1968). The former relates how the 18 year old Brownlow came to make his highly original first feature and what happened to it. The latter book, a monumental and impeccably researched work containing unique stills and interviews with all sorts of stalwarts of the silent movies, from stars to stand-ins and technicians, belongs in every filmlover's library. I remember reading the MS. for a publisher in the late 1960s: despite my most enthusiastic recommendation, I couldn't persuade that particular firm to publish Kevin's manuscript. No, it was 'uncommercial', 'too long', 'too limited in appeal', etc… Luckily a rival firm soon snapped up this wonderful book, which has remained in print ever since and taken its rightful place as one of a handful of indispensable accounts of the pioneers of cinema.

Different Journeys

Maggie's back from olive-picking in the scorching heat (for her adventures and impressions of life on the West Bank, you'll need to read her own detailed and excellent blog, http://magssjournal.blogspot.com/, it's much more interesting than mine, and convinces me I must go out there with her next time, next year.

While she was away I did catch up with quite a bit of reading, though, and can particularly recommend Hans Fallada's wonderful novel Little Man, What Now? This dates from 1932, and is a chilling and quite fascinating account of an ordinary young couple's struggles to survive in Germany with the deutschmark worth almost nothing and Nazism on the rise. Fallada (1893-1947) was a great social realist writer with terrific storytelling ability. The other 2 novels of his that I'd previously read, still more gripping – and even better translated, by the redoubtable John Willett and Michael Hofmann respectively – are The Drinker and Alone In Berlin. Quite extreme and extraordinary, like 'Fallada's' own life! I'd eagerly read anything else available in English by this German author, which means for me he's in the class of Joseph Roth, Brecht and B.Traven…

Picked up a mint and clearly unread copy for 50p in a local charity shop, of Michel Houellebecq's The Possibility Of An Island, his latest, longest and most savagely satirical novel. I think he's my favourite contemporary French novelist: this is no letdown and pulls no punches. It's sharp and funny and scathing about the world and all of us in it. I think he hates and despises religion and bogus belief-systems (including the media and consumer society) as much as I do, so I could even forgive him a couple of passing swipes at 2 of my heroes, Joyce and Nabokov! Houellebecq clearly loves causing offence and tackling the most potentially painful and/or universally sensitive issues, such as sex, aging and death, and good luck to him, for he'll need it if he carries on as grimly, hilariously and outrageously as this, and doesn't drink himself into oblivion first.

As for film, Peter Strickland's exciting debut Katalin Varga is simply unmissable. The best new British indie work in years, made on a shoestring (a thirty thousand quid legacy), subtitled (it's in Romanian and Hungarian), and beautifully shot and acted in some of the most stunning areas of Transylvania. It's the cinematic equivalent of a page-turner like those mentioned above, and is guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat. Thanks, Mr Strickland, you're quite an auteur, and I hope you can get funding to make more movies: those pupils of yours at your Reading school are lucky indeed to have a teacher like you, but everyone who's seen your film will also be hoping that you don't have to stay there for too much longer.

A Religious Rant

I'm looking forward to Maggie's return tomorrow and to hearing in detail about her trip helping Palestinian farmers with their olive harvest: the aggressive Zionist settlers and the IDF bully and brutalize their victims daily to an almost incredible level of hostility, a murderous fanaticism. Ah if only we could simply do away with religion, all religions, and just behave towards each other like decent human beings and partners on this earth – sharing it and caring for it, not stealing and destroying it! 

But hey, all's OK in the UK, for C of E parson-persons can now turn RC and happily bow down to His Holiness the Blessed Krautpope Ben Ratzinger: it seems the absurd and bumbling Rowan The Beard, Archbish of Cant, was unprepared for this recent slippery-popery manoeuvre. Maybe St Tony, with his uncanny gift for following the real power and money, guilt-free at that – he himself a man who managed the conversion bit (or crossover bid) a while back – might have tipped Williams the wink? So much for current Christian 'unity': yet nearly all the other cults and sects, the heresies and -isms and schisms, are as ridiculous and/or abhorrent. Such silly gibberish, promoted by 57 different varieties of men in skirts, does at least advance the world's necessary move towards a rational and humane atheism: let's hope common sense prevails soonest.

For the last few days I've been a 'grass widower'. Odd term, that, which the Rev Ebenezer Brewer will doubtless clear up for me when I look it up in his amazing Dictionary Of Phrase And Fable. (I tend not to google such things but prefer to look em up in my own more than adeqate library, inveterate bookman that I am…)

So, left to my own devices, I've been getting round finally to reading various books piled up on my shelves, including J. G. Ballard's last fiction, Kingdom Come. I'm two thirds of the way through, and it seems to me he remained on absolutely cracking form. (The very last book, his poignant memoir, Miracles Of Life, is a quite superb swansong.) I've read almost all Jim's books now, in the order they appeared, more or less, and consider him a true original, one of the most readable and significant English language authors of the 20th and 21st centuries. 

Way back during the paperback boom of the 1960s we were both published by the wonderful Panther Books, and had several convivial meetings, thanks to a couple of editors there. He signed my copy of his 1967 book The Disaster Area thus: Alexis, From one disaster area to another, Jim. A friendly and humorous man whose work had both style and substance. I wish we'd met again and/or corresponded more than very occasionally over the years. But I was pleased to have introduced Jim, via my first book about her, to the work of Jean Rhys, whom he said he intended to read 'Pronto'. This was nine years ago now. A few weeks back, I heard his quietly ironic, slightly drawling voice again – extracts from various old radio interviews: it only served to remind one what a fine and prescient writer we'd lost.

Haikus launched

I'm never quite sure about the plural, should it be haikai? But that word does look a bit too unfamiliar if not over-pedantic for English readers! At any rate, the book was launched very successfully. Exeter Picturehouse bar is an ideal and friendly venue, PA system and all, and through the evening about 60 people turned up (lovely to see all you excellent people, the cream of Exe intelligentsia?!) Lots of books sold, and I was particularly pleased to see the fine photographer Ed Hughes, who provided that great monochrome cover image. We'd never met previously, just corresponded via email. Ed's photo, taken looking out of a ruined house in Balaclava, Crimea, is stunning and perfect for the book: much appreciated, while the whole production seems to have found favour generally. We plan to repeat the gig at a different Devon venue in early December. Watch this space!

Checking Out The Daily Mail!

Eh? Ken Clay might raise an eyebrow here, the DM's not my usual read, but its front pages (10 Oct) covered the 'Iraq Service of Remembrance 2003-9', starring our gracious Monarch and the Archbish of Cant.  Stealing the show though was St Tony – raddled-looking in closeup. He was rightly rebuffed by Paul Brierley, one irate bereaved father he'd thoughtlessly offered to shake hands with. Blah was told angrily that he had blood on his hands. The somewhat bewildered war criminal is an outstandingly thickskinned creature, but Bliar's insensitivity and vanity know no bounds, it seems. He'd even autographed the Form of Service, as if it were some Mourner's Menu or Celeb Carte du Jour. Some crass christianity in action here. The EU if it's 'headed up' by Blare will surely lose global goodwill and credibility.

My own rants in Unholy Empires re this sanctimonious crook were justifiably satirical, I thought, but as for Phony Tony, murderous millionaire and purveyor of Middle East peace, this unimpeachable truthteller and man of Phaith has now ascended beyond mere satire and into the sublime reaches of Celestial Surreality.

plug for Trevor!

Went to Trevor Hamilton's book launch at Topsham yesterday. He's written an interesting book on FWH Myers, yet another Victorian oddball, wealthy eccentric, explorer of the paranormal, spiritualism etc. Myers was also in his day a well-regarded poet and philosopher. Trevor has done some amazing research and writes well so I'm looking forward to reading this (beautifully produced and illustrated) book, Immortal Longings. It's definitely the sort of thing Fortean Times devotees would enjoy.

Haiku book launch - stills and moving images

new collection, Haiku Of Five Decades, is being launched at Exeter Picturehouse on Monday evening 12 Oct from 7-9. I'll be doing a short reading at about 8. if you haven't already received your invitation, please come! and a big thank you to Ed Hughes for his superb black and white photographic image which he's let us use for the book cover.

talking of Exeter Picturehouse, yesterday saw there Andrea Arnold's terrific new film, Fish Tank. she's quite a talent and a young one at that. anyone who hasn't seen her first prizewinning film Red Road should catch up with it soonest - it's on DVD. 

Spain and writers

Just back from the Costa del Concrete. a shock after an absence of 47 years. Churriana, once a tiny village from which one could walk a couple of miles to a deserted beach, is now all part of the urban sprawl. Then it was Gerald Brenan's home and I used to talk to him daily over a few months. We went to the same dreadful public school 50 years apart during which time nothing had changed - beatings, cold baths etc. He told me the trenches in WWI were easier to deal with. For anyone who doesn't know his books, South From Granada and The Face Of Spain are musts. As is The Spanish Temper by his friend VS Pritchett. Earlier than these classics, go back to Borrow and Richard Ford. For a brilliant contemporary novel about the aftermath of the civil war, read Soldiers of Salamis by Javier Cercas and of course Pan's Labyrinth is a properly 'fantastic' film in all senses.

philosophic musing

Blog Jam

I won't be somebody who tweets and twitters:

all word-lovers avoid the verbal squitters.

new collection

have been proofing new collection - Haiku Of Five Decades - always a gruelling process! hope to get proofs to the printer in the next couple of days. book will be launched in Exeter on 12 Oct. more details later. 

new website

thanks to the know-how and enthusiasm of Ken Clay, I've got a new and improved website. I'll be adding more articles to it so the site will be a sort of archive. hope you like it!