It’s The Shining for our Royal Family. A family that don’t come out of this well.
i mean, Sandringham is The Overlook Hotel.
The corridors are eternal.
Now, I should say, this is a work of fiction, but anyone with half a brain that lived through those times in Britain and sees what is happening to Diana’s sons (one Charles’, one Hewitts’) will know that this is really the truth.
It’s set over three days at Sandringham, my that’s a pad. in which Diana, at the height of her tortured bulimia, despises the royal family, herself, and their hideous traditions that involve killing animals and killing commoners.
Of course, she was never a commoner, but she was just a sort of ordinary girl and that is what I think the remarkable direction of Pablo Larrain (Jackie) captures.
The direction is magnificent with his weird horror tropes, fantasy segments and an ability to walk away for long segments of the film from straight narrative.
Again, I say, it is a modern day The Shining, made horrifying by Jonny Greenwood’s hideous score. Deafening and discordant at times, fusing jazz and classical, it is not singalong, but it it truly brilliant.
But now, let’s focus on Kristen Stewart. Her first Oscar nomination surely in the bag. She’s a brave method actor, always has been, and I admire her for this immensely.
Timothy Spall is superb and so are the two commoners that Stewart makes a relationship with – her Dresser, Maggie (a brilliant cameo by Sally Hawkins) and the chef Darren (Sean Harris, so sympathetic, so lovely). These two keep Diana alive.
The genius of the casting is to make none of the Royal family characters (including Charles) matter. This isn’t about these horrible people. They ARE the enemy, the reason for Diana’s illness, bulimia, self harming, but Larraín chooses to make them incidental scum and I love that choice he made.
The exception being William and Harry who are the only other reasons Diana survives the movie. You can see now why Hewitt’s son, Harry, has distanced himself from this evil institution, and good on him.
This is high quality art house cinema. not for your Aunty Mavis, but I loved it.
Netflix has created a masterful TV series which I understand has exceeded the success of the Queen’s Gambit. Not in the UK, I imagine, because none of my friends are talking about this beautiful reflection on life.
It concerns an abused woman, Alex, played imperiously by Margaret Qualley, who is the daughter, in real life, of her mother in the show, Paula, of Andie MacDowell.
So it’s Mom and daughter on screen together.
Now, Andie MacDowell, as we all know, is pure born Apple Pie perfect Americana lovely mom.
Not in this.
She’s a cunt.
Thankfully her real life daughter, Alex, abused by her on screen partner Sean, is resolute, wonderful and stoic.
What we see through ten hours of gripping television is an increasingly amazing acting performance, a great story and some really interesting directional moves (the episodes that feature a Queen dance to Don’t Stop Me Now and another in a dark forest are works of art).
Alex’s baby, seen above, Maddy (played by, I dunno, three year old, Rylea Nevaeh Whittet )is astounding.
But this whole show is about Margaret Qualley. On screen virtually throughout she deals with every shitfuck that life can throw at you. In every moment she is entirely believable. But that comes from a great script and great direction.
You are entirely, completely, utterly, wholly invested in this performance.
Her Mom, Andie MacDowell, plays the role of her life, entirely hateful as it is, and the other supporting cast – her abusive partner Sean (Nick Robinson) and the real life cunt/not cunt client Regina, (Anika Noni Rose) – are just wonderful.
This is a gem.
It brings domestic abuse right front and centre, the perpetrator, Sean, is essentially an alcoholic and blames the drink on his behaviour.
He’s violent, but he cares. He tries so hard not to be the dick that he is, but he’s an alcoholic. Meanwhile Alex survives, just.
This is important drama and I’d like to think, just maybe cathartic for some victims.
Joyce is one of those people you need for a community to operate. In South Queensferry she and her late husband, Jim, were at the heart of everything. Greenferry, Cleanferry, raising money for local charities by playing impromptu gigs at Scotmid, her on the keys, him on the fiddle. Fundraising. Putting on community gatherings at the church, sitting on the Ferry Arts Festival Committee with me in the Chair, you name it.
But Jim passed away not so long ago and young Joyce is forging a new life for herself in her beloved Italy. It didn’t stop her from cooking up this rather appetising bowl of cultural minestrone.
She was an English teacher, at college not School.
Apart from her obvious love for Jim her other love is her son Steven who is doing just great at the BBC where he’s a radio producer on many big shows. Joyce’s pride for Steven (who was incidentally also MY producer on the short-lived Nightfly show on Jubilee FM) is apparent for all to see.
Joyce is simply a wonderful human being with a zest for life and a spirit of complete ‘giving’ that is sadly missed in her home community here in North Edinburgh.But as “La babysitter for Northern Italian twins, a boy and a girl, aged 7, she is kept well-entertained. She tells me she has no idea how long she will be there, but is in no hurry to return.
Life, it seems, could be worse.
Anyway, do enjoy Joyce’s fascinating and illuminating selections.
My favourite author or book
Oh, come on. You’re talking to an English teacher here. Can I have half a dozen? Let’s start with the poetry of Norman MacCaig. Funny, witty, incisive, poignant, beautifully Scottish, something for everyone. My husband and I used to organise the Scottish Writers’ Autumn conference, and MacCaig was one of our guest speakers. I didn’t particularly take to him (he was a bit of a smart Alec) but there’s no doubting his immense talent as a writer. Try “Academic” or “Aunt Julia” or “Visiting Hour” or “Sparrow” for starters.
Catch 22. One of the few books I’ve read twice. I’d never before encountered a book with such a clever (and initially confusing) narrative structure. Joseph Heller had such a healthy cynicism. I loved the dark humour. Recently, I heard someone talking on radio, who had no idea about the origin of the expression, Catch-22. (That makes me feel old, as it did when I realised that some of my students had never heard of The Beatles.)
The Great Gatsby. One of my all-time favourites. A wonderful reflection of the 1920s, flappers, the emerging film industry, celebrity, bootlegging, excess, truth and lies, appearance and reality, jealousy, careless people. Still relevant today. But it has to be read for its exquisite style and imagery — there’s no film that can touch it. I’ve seen three film versions. Baz Luhrmann’s remake was pretty good, but nothing can equal the richness of the language that we get from the book, and the romantic mystery that is Gatsby. Must read it again.
Wuthering Heights. Another book I’ve read a few times, and it was a different read each time — a story of wild romantic love; a story of social injustice and revenge; or a story of good and evil (just look at the number of times Heathcliff is referred to as a devil, or a goblin, or he appears amid thunder and lightning). I vaguely remember reading that Emily Bronte’s sisters found the ending too cruel, and wanted her to change it. I’m glad she didn’t (unlike Ibsen who had to rewrite the ending of “A Doll’s House” for the German audience who couldn’t cope with the idea of a woman leaving her family to lead an independent life.)
A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
I read it in my late teens, and it left an enormous impression on me. Before that, I hadn’t given any thought to what it meant to be condemned to hard labour, and had never heard of a Soviet “gulag”, but this book made me wake up to the brutalities of Stalin’s world, and the ghastly existence that some people had. It was a book that helped me understand politics, to value freedom, and to be grateful for every morsel of food. In fact, every time I scrape the bottom of a jar, I think of those emaciated bodies.
The book I’m reading
‘The Italians’ by John Hooper. I’m beginning to get a handle on the divide between north and south, the different identities of the various regions, the vast number of different languages spoken in the different parts, the (ever-shifting) political parties, Berlusconi (who makes Donald Trump look innocent), the Italian character, attitudes, relationship with the truth, art, culture, history, religion, and the enormous influence of the Pope(s) in shaping this country. And I really get now what it must have been like to live through WW2 with the battles raging right here, on home soil, the terrible carnage of Cassino, Mussolini’s changing sides, civil war— what a diverse and divided nation still. (I laughed recently when a friend told me that Sicilians still say they’re “going to Italy” when they’re visiting the mainland.) I was also struck by various pieces of information. For example:
— Before they are employed, women can be asked to sign an undated letter of resignation in case they should get pregnant. (It’s illegal, of course, but in Italy…).
— Street Artists in Venice inherit their licences, even if they have no talent!
— Unheard of towns such as Trani, Macerata, Vercelli, or Cosenza house more cultural treasures than are to be found in the whole of the USA.
— The first state to abolish the death penalty was Tuscany in 1786. The Vatican State abolished it in 1969.
– A huge percentage of Italian adults under 30 (over 80%) are still living with their parents. They’re called “Bamboccioni”. (And it’s pretty obvious to me too, that Italian men of whatever age are still very attached to their mothers.) In other western countries, the average is around 50%.
— Italian convents house around one third of all the nuns in Europe. Catholic hospitals still rely on nuns for healthcare.
— State education is considered perfectly adequate and children there perform better than those in private schools.
— There was a huge sporting scandal in 2005 when it was discovered that players and referees were fixing (and had been for a long time) football matches, and that top managers had a web of influence over results which favoured the top clubs, particularly Juventus.
— Ethnic cuisine is still regarded with deep mistrust. (I can attest to this: it’s REALLY difficult to find ethnic food in local supermarkets, but there are whole aisles of pasta!)
— Berlusconi presided over changes in the law which reduced the statutes of limitation on white-collar (usually financial) crimes so that cases were “timed out”. This allowed him to escape justice for serious financial irregularities. (How Berlusconi is still in politics is beyond me, but then so is the whole of Italian politics.)
What a country, to provide the greatest cultural transformation in the history of the West. This nation gave the world painters and sculptors (Donatello, Leonardo, Botticelli, Titian, Caravaggio); composers (Vivaldi, Verdi, Puccini); and writers (Dante, Pertrarch, Boccaccio.). Not to mention Galileo, Christopher Columbus, Maria Montessori — all of them Italians.
The book I wish I had written
“Happenstance” by Carol Shields. I’m always interested in books with shifting viewpoints, but this one was extra clever. First of all, it’s a real book, as in one which you can hold in your hand to turn the pages. Both the front and back cover look exactly the same, with the title cover, except that one is subtitled “The Wife’s Story” and the other side is subtitled “The Husband’s Story”. Events over a single weekend are then told from each point of view, until the half way point when you are forced to turn the book over and begin reading again from the other side. It leaves you wondering if you’d read the “other” story first, would that have shaped your sympathies differently. (You’ll never know.) It’s ingenious. (And I wonder how it’s presented on Kindle, which must remove that element of choice.)
The book I couldn’t finish
It must have been so bad, I have cast it from my mind!
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
Well it *was* Tolstoy’s classic, ‘War and Peace’, but only because I couldn’t be bothered carrying around such a hefty tome. But I always felt I *should* have read it, so it was the first book I put into my Kindle, and it did not disappoint. After my initial scepticism, and many arguments with my son, I can now highly recommend Kindle for hefty tomes, holidays, and a prolonged sojourn in Italy. (Is that an oxymoron?)
My favourite film
Gone With The Wind. A four-hour epic drama, and the first film I ever saw that needed an interval. My mother took me to see it when I was a teenager. She raved about it, described the excitement in the queues around the cinema when it first came out, and explained the moral dilemmas. She also loved Clark Gable (never understood that), but it was the cinematography that got me — those silhouetted buildings on fire, the sweeping high shots of wounded soldiers on the ground, and all in (then-very-new-and-expensive) full technicolour. And the music. I’d never experienced anything quite like that before. It was here that I truly realised the value of the big screen experience, and I’ve preferred to see films at the cinema ever since. I was sorry to see the latest animated Pixar film “Luca” released straight onto Disney’s streaming service — that would have worked brilliantly on the big screen with the backdrop of the (not overtly stated) Cinque Terre.
My favourite play
Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House”. 19th Century Norwegian play about a woman who is treated like a child by her wealthy, over-protective-and-rather-patronising husband. Then, after an unexpected turn of events, the reality of her situation begins to dawn on her. In the final scene, she sits her husband down and tells him that, in eight years, they haven’t had a serious conversation, before delivering a few home truths. Quite a speech as I remember it. A feminist play well before the word ‘feminist’ was understood as it is today.
My favourite podcast
Coffee Break Italian. I was surprised to learn just how many of my friends were (and still are) learning Italian. I have no idea how I found this podcast but it’s a series of “live” lessons by a Scottish guy (a teacher in the west coast) called Mark Pentleton in conjunction with a native Italian speaker, Francesca. (I love her). They discuss various points of the language in the presence of a learner, and then they test her out on what she has learned. The student makes all the mistakes I would have made but it gives them the opportunity to discuss the points further, and the whole tone of it is so pleasant and friendly. Access is free, but you can pay for the notes and extra exercises.
As for other podcasts, I enjoy Four Thought, on BBC Radio 4, which is an interesting series of talks on various art/cultural topics. Just scroll through the list and there’s something for everyone. (I liked the one on the dying art of letter-writing.)
And there’s Louis Theroux’s ‘Grounded’ series which he recorded during Lockdown. Some really interesting interviews there.
The box set I’m hooked on
(Or was hooked on.) Aaron Sorkin’s ‘The West Wing’. My son, Steven, got us into this, and we, in turn, passed the set on to family and friends. One of them rang us up and said she and her husband had hardly left the house in a week, they’d watched all seven seasons (156 episodes) almost back to back. Now that’s dedication. Anything written by Aaron Sorkin is worth watching. The writing is top drawer. (And you could tell when he stopped writing episodes for the The West Wing after Season 4.)
My favourite TV series
Pretend It’s a City. (On Netflix — does that count?). A series of interviews and clips from Fran Lebowitz who is absolutely hilarious about her life in New York, and the changes she’s seen in that time. There are seven in the series, and you can watch them in any order, but I’d highly recommend Episode 7 “Library Services” which is the one I happened to watch first. Reminds me of my husband rooting out “treasures” in dusty old bookshops.
Other than that, if the series has to have been shown on TV, I’d go for “Fawlty Towers”. How I laughed at every episode. I thought the hoo-ha over ‘The Germans’ — now issued with an “offensive content and language” warning — was too much, but it’s a changing world.
My favourite piece of music
Mmm. Losing touch with music, I have to say, in favour of podcasts and voice radio. Something jazz, I imagine. Or classical. One memorable piece is ‘Adagio in G Minor’ by Albinoni, played on strings and organ. I first heard it playing as I walked into the (long time closed) John Smith’s bookshop in Glasgow, and bought it on the spot.
My favourite dance performance
Stomp. I still can’t believe the multifarious percussion sounds and rhythms they came up with using brushes, dustbin lids, lighters, anything really. Not even sure if they’re still around, (and they’ll have suffered from theatre closures during Covid) but that was an eye- (or ear-) opening performance for me. (But was it dance?)
I’d also go to see Irish Dancing anytime.
The last film/music/book that made me cry
Judy. Renee Zellweger was outstanding in her recreation of Judy Garland’s final performances. It exactly hit my mother’s era (which I heard a lot about as a child) and I was in floods of tears in the first few bars of “Over the Rainbow”. It reminded me also of my husband, — we played violin and keyboard together round the sheltered housing complexes, and that was one of our most requested songs.
The lyric I wish I’d written
Dorothy Fields’ wrote the lyrics for “The Way You Look Tonight” after hearing Jerome Kern play the melody on the piano. Apparently it had her in tears the first time she heard it. Her lyrics fit the music perfectly. She always said she didn’t write lyrics to be popular but to write a song that would fit the moment, or a character, and she certainly succeeded with this one. (Incidentally, Dorothy Fields was the first woman to win an Academy Award for Best Original Song. Her father, an actor, was very against her going into show business. Happily, she ignored him.)
The song that saved me
I’m not sure I ever needed saving, but, if I was feeling down as a teenager, “Bridge over Troubled Water” seemed to hit the mark. Love the rising crescendo at the end.
The instrument I play
Keyboard. I learned a very basic piano when I was a child, then, as an adult, found a keyboard at a jumble sale, and realised that it practically played itself. My husband played violin, but we were together for about eleven years before I realised that! Thereafter, we gave concerts together for many years, entertaining the elderly, and organised musical events in the local community.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
Clarinet. I loved hearing Glenn Miller playing the clarinet. I even remember telling a friend that I’d like our son to learn the clarinet. Straight away, she replied “Joyce, if YOU want to play the clarinet, then YOU should learn to play the clarinet.” She was right, of course, but I never did — and my son learned to play drums!
If I could own one painting it would be
First, you need to watch “Made You Look” on Netflix. I’m one of those who couldn’t tell you the difference between an original and a fake. Happy to go and look at them in art galleries, cathedrals and churches (plenty of those in Italy) but I always wish I had a guide with me.
The music that cheers me up
Mr Boom. Children’s entertainer (probably geriatric entertainer now). His lyrics and rhymes were terrible: “I’m-Mis-ter-Boom-and-I-live-on-the-moon” but his performance with the kids was always cheering. I even went to see him on my own, long after our son was grown up!
Failing that, ‘The Laughing Policeman’. Nobody, but nobody, could fail to laugh after hearing that.
The place I feel happiest
In a coffee shop. Reading a book or newspaper. Sadly, not something I can easily do anymore — I’m too conscious, in these Covid times, that they need their tables back quickly, so I don’t hang about so much now.
Or, being out and about on my bike. Love that feeling of being higher up with the wind in your hair. I bought a second-hand bike here in Varese before I realised that the town is surrounded by hills (truly — in every direction.) So, I’m planning to buy an electric bike. (I really wanted a Vespa but everyone tells me they’re far too dangerous given the number of potholes and the generally poor state of the Italian roads.)
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Coronation Street. I watched the very first episode with my mother, on our brand new black and white box telly back in the days when there were only two channels and they ended the broadcasting day at midnight with the national anthem and a picture of the queen diminishing to a white dot and a high-pitched continuous “oooo”. Ken Barlow was but a fresh-faced, student with a long scarf and a lot to say about the state of the working-class world. I think it was actually better then, with episodes only on a Monday and Wednesday and some thoughtful social analysis arising from the era of the kitchen-sink drama. It’s decidedly middle-class now. I have no idea how they manage to keep coming up with new ideas, though some storylines are dragged out, or downright silly. Pressure to keep churning them out, I expect. And you have to admire how they’ve adapted to filming during Covid. Thanks to VPNs, I’m still able to access British TV in Italy (though it doesn’t help much with learning Italian!)
I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors
Can’t do anything with these kind of questions. I’d rather have lunch with you!
And I’ll put on this music
Lanie Gardner singing Dreams by Fleetwood Mac, released in October 2020 is an interesting discovery. She’s a young American singer songwriter with her own YouTube channel.
Or Amy Winehouse. Or Madeleine Peyroux. Or I’ll let you choose. (I really should get back into music.)
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