Klara And The Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro: Book Review

Kazuo Ishiguro is famous for his ‘unreliable narrators’, central protagonists that tell their tales in such a way that you can’t be sure that what the story they are relating is true or manipulated to protect their side of it (most famously in the Remains of The Day, and a Pale View of Hills). Thus his seemingly simplistic narratives are riddled with undercurrent, red herrings and blind alleys, although none of them are crime stories.

In this he sets up perhaps his most unreliable narrator of all, because the narrator isn’t even human, she’s an Artificial Friend (AF), or, technically, a robot. She has been created through robotics, for sure, and powered by AI to act as a companion for rich kids of the future who live lonely existences in what is a privileged but fairly nihilistic lifestyle.

You’d think that, as a robot, she wouldn’t have emotions, but she does, and these develop as the novel does (that’s AI for ya!). The keenest of all, the hardest to describe and the least reliable of them all, is love. Not romantic love, but familial and caring love. The love of a devoted nurse, or ‘Agape’ (the love of God for Man and Man for God).

In the beginning Klara is for sale in an AF shop and we learn that she is acutely observant, the best AF The Manager of the shop has ever had in fact, despite the fact that she’s a lowly AF2. The far more advanced AF3’s are bossing the sales charts and she’s in danger of being remaindered – something this novel never will be.

Despite her lower spec something about Klara resonates with Josie, a silly teenager, who has her eye on her and the first part of the book is a cat and mouse relationship that results in Klara eventually being sold to The Mother of Josie. All characters are capitalised by Klara and referred to in the third person throughout. The same applies to The Sun.

Part two (of six) sees the unfolding of a love story between the increasingly poorly Klara, her platonic boyfriend Rick, who has lived next door since childhood, The Mother and Klara.

Gradually the significance of The Sun unfolds and its role in the story. In the simplest of terms Klara is solar powered so needs The Sun for energy but in the book The Sun is also God and Klara believes The Sun has the power to make Klara well again. How she became unwell is not revealed for some time but is an important part of the story as it is a consequence (and a risk) of creating her elevated position in the novel’s society.

It’s futuristic, but not terribly so. This is part of Ishiguro’s skill in that he creates a science fiction setting (rather like in Never Let Me Go) without going all flying cars on us. It’s no Blade Runner. Rather, Ishiguro uses science fiction merely as a means of lifting his astounding character studies into a heightened sense of reality, so that he can play with language, allegory and emotion (or a form of it) that would be impossible in a conventional setting.

The richness of Klara’s characterisation is impossible to overstate. Despite her fairly rudimentary language and her unsophisticated emotional range he succeeds in creating a protagonist that the reader falls in loves with and feels every bump of her personal road as she tries to navigate life in a heartless, selfish, frankly dystopian society. A society where, a subtle subplot suggests, fascism is waiting to spring into life, that would probably manifest itself in some form of Krystalnacht that lies two or three hundred pages into an extended version of the book.

This almost reads like a Young Adult novel, it’s incredibly pacy if you want it to be, but I found myself going back and forth making certain that I’d grasped the significance of many of the scenes and themes in the book: love, hate (in the form of fascism and societal exclusion), a dying planet, religion and the role of God in a secular society.

It’s bursting with ideas, with energy, with pathos and for me stands as Ishiguro’s greatest achievement yet in a canon of work that few can match (that’s why he’s a Nobel Laureate).

Your children could read and enjoy this, you could simply take it at face value and enjoy this, or you could take a little more time and really love it.

Love, after all, is what we are all surviving and striving for.

One last point. I cannot wait for this to be interpreted in movie form.

.

Babylon: Movie Review

Damian Chazelle doesn’t make bad movies (Whiplash, La La Land, First Man) but much of what I’d heard about Babylon in advance of seeing (no experiencing) it for myself was less than complimentary.

Turgid, overlong, rambling, too strident and lacking a narrative.

Well, in my view, all of those criticisms are both unfounded and unfair, because Babylon is magnificent.

It’s an epic story spanning thirty years, beginning in the silent era when Hollywood was in its most outrageous Klondike era.

The talkies would pivot the narrative when Al Jolson’s Jazz Singer arrived, but for now anything went and that’s where the movie begins in a lavish set piece piece that starts with a scatalogical Elephant episode and culminates, some 25 minutes late, in a drug fuelled frenzy at the end of all parties.

Then up comes the title credit, fully 25 minutes in.

It’s jaw dropping and hilarious.

We then see the, also hilarious, growth of silent cinema where anyone with a mind, and a budget to do it, can do it. This is where Brad Pitt (a matinee idol in his final years) and Margot Robbie (a wannabe with talent and gumption) dominate proceedings with Robbie putting in a career high performance.

In the third act the story slows down considerably and assumes a narrative direction before all hell breaks loose in the penultimate chapter (it turns into a horror film, with a stand out cameo from Toby MaGuire, that morphs into a psychedelic episode that Kubrick would have loved, before reaching its Jazzy musical finale.

It’s three hours of endless ideas, superb styling, sets and costume design.

In using Singing In the Rain as a central plot device, and theme for the movie’s funniest sequence on an early sound stage, Chazelle treats us to his first real exploration of humour.

It’s an homage, as the whole movie is, to the greatest days of hollywood. It’s a comedy, a romance, a horror and a musical all rolled into one.

And the music. On my, fans of La La Land will enjoy the musical themes that run throughout and are a direct follow up to his first masterpiece.

I applauded the movie as the final curtain came down. It contains more ideas, more vitality, more chutzpah than anything I’ve seen for ages and I for one hope to see it rewarded at the Hollywood gongs night in the spring.

Bravo.

The Dangers of Smoking in Bed by Mariana Enriquez: Book Review

This is the second Argentinian book I have read recently and it seems the country has a rich seam of dark writing talent.

Enriquez’s book is a collection of short stories that stem from the macabre, but are tempered in her writing, such that it is suggestive rather than gratuitous in its pot pourri of horrors.

Ghosts, witches and disappearances are the staple diet for Enriquez with the disappearances, I assume, as a metaphor for the Junta that dictated Argentina for so long. Children and vulnerable adults often feature.

She has a languid style, even though the stories are short and she has a skill in capturing conversation and description that feels naturalistic (despite the fact that the book is a translation).

I very much enjoyed this slight but powerful collection and I suggest you do too.

Partygate: the Inside Story: Podcast review

I inhaled this splendid new podcast from ITV News, presented by Paul Brand.

It’s a forensic study into the goings on in number 10 Downing Street during the clown king, Boris Johnson’s reign, throughout Covid.

Although there is nothing particularly new about the story itself, what brings freshness and interest to the sorry saga is the revelations of whistle blowers and number 10 insiders who (anonymously) share their observations with us.

Anonymous, because they fear dismissal if they were to be identified as the moles.

It rattles along at a fair old pace and intersperses the story with the many, many ITV News clips that broke each of the seemingly endless stories, including the botch job by Cressida Dick and The Metropolitan Police (clearly some insider dealings going on there) and the ultimate downfall of Johnson for unrelated reasons.

It’s a really great summary of a story that gripped the nation and, in seven short episodes (with no ads), never outstays its welcome.

Men: Movie Review (Amazon Prime)

This promised to be a winning combination. Jessie Buckley written and directed by Alex Garland with music by Geoff Barrow (Portishead).

It is.

It’s full on bonkers horror movie, folk horror I’d say where Wicker Man meets Friday the 13th, meets The Thing.

Bonkers really is the word.

Harper (Jessie Buckley) has retreated to a country manor to regroup after a nasty break up with her husband, very nasty it turns out, and meets the Fast Show-esque posho, red-trouser wearing owner of the manor, Geoffrey (Rory Kinnear), for a tour of the building before he departs. Played for laughs by Kinnear we start to relax until Harper’s exploration of the local area throw up the shades of Wicker Man local population (all played by Kinnear) that indeed would not be out of place in The Fast Show but maybe more at home in one of the more eccentric Inside Number 9’s.

Anyway, things escalate, Friday the 13th Kicks in for 15 minutes or so before the extraordinary finale in which men beget men.

Maybe Garland is saying that all men are the same (a strongly feminist outlook from a man) and he’s not referring to their better qualities by the way.

Either way, Buckley again shows her acting chops off well in what is ultimately a throwaway chapter in her wonderful, multifaceted career. She’s great and so is Kinnear.

As I said at the start it’s bonkers, but gloriously so.

Men eh? You can’t live with ’em, you can’t live with ’em.

Aftersun: Movie review

Despite the movie’s understated style it has ended the year in a huge great ball of hype. A ball that might have rendered it disappointing in the flesh.

It’s anything but disappointing.

It’s not plot driven, far from it.

Really it’s a mood piece that captures the innocence of childhood (the 11 year old Sophie’s early moments of an impending puberty) and parental guilt (her divorced Dad, Callum, played beautifully by Paul Mescal).

Together this father and daughter team create a simply breathtaking and utterly believable rendering of how an unlikely couple would spend a week on a cut price package holiday from Edinburgh to Turkey in the 1990’s.

As a Dad myself, it’s incredibly evocative (OK, I don’t carry the baggage of divorce with me) it also effortlessly captures the mood of early 1990’s culture, including the rave scene, that I was too old for but totally ‘get’ its significance.

Although much of the relationship between the two is positive and really quite intimate there’s an underscore of dread and jeopardy.

Something’s gonna go wrong, right?

The movie has an unsettling mood, right from the off and, at times, this threatens to break the surface. Water is a constant theme in the movie, pools and sea that suggest drowning.

Drowning under the pressure of raising your daughter right, drowning under the pent up anger that presents itself again and again, subtly but scarily, like when Callum spits his mouthwash onto the bathroom mirror in the hotel. In the way he arrives with a broken wrist and then clumsily tries to remove the cast in a bucket of (again) water with a pair of nail scissors.

Is suicide imminent?

Sophie is charm personified, a bubbly (but not precocious) 11 year old played by 9 year old street find, Frankie Corio.

What a performance. You know the kind. Never acted before and looks set to win awards. Effortless and completely believable and compelling.

Her adult self looks back on the holiday 20 years later looking for clues as to why what later happened might have happened. It’s a forlorn search.

First time Scottish director Charlotte Wells has created a piece that reminded me somewhat of Lynne Ramsay’s masterful Allan Warner adaptation, Morvern Callar.

But this is no me too. It has its own rich quality and introduces us to someone of Ramsay’s greatness, straight out of the blocks.

It is Wells that is the true star of this piece at the end of the day.

Nothing short of magnificent.

FOH Mockumentary: Film review

Firstly, I confess an interest in this, my STAR vehicle.

Throughout its three parts you will see moi appear in a ravishing series of vignettes that makes Bowie in Extras look like some also ran.

But enough of me, let’s focus on the nepotism that riddles this post.

To start with, it’s written and directed by my great friend Andrew Dyer, a great writing, acting, singing and now, it appears, film making talent.

Secondly many of my friends also appear in this. The music is by my pal Gus Harrower, and he fleetingly makes an appearance, more fleeting than me because, realistically, he isn’t as good as me. All of the Wests appear, one in a starring role, although I feel sure Charlie West will have been taking copious notes after seeing my Stanislavsky driven performance – particularly as “The Photographer” in Episode three, and Rio Brady, Hannah Scott, Graham Crammond (narrator) to name but a few.

Frankly, “the Photographer” says it all, a Situationist study of pure creativity at work, within a work.

Meta? Yeah. And your point is?

Aside from me, there are towering performances from Michelle Whitney as Linda and Gemma McElhinney as Cilla plus George Hall who taught Andrew everything he knows (apparently a theatre legend).

It’s a hilarious study of life in the Front of House team in a provincial theatre and has laughs aplenty, as well as some rather touching moments of poignance, particularly in Cilla’s Episode (ep 2)

It deserves to find a larger audience, so please share wherever you see this.

Pilot episode

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

The Things We Do To Our Friends: Book Review

I must be a feminist because this new novel is described as a seductive feminist thriller, because it places significant, albeit dubious, power into the hands of its largely female cast (and I say cast because it has movie rights written all over it) as they exact retribution on bad men, very bad men.

It’s also described as The Secret History-esque, which is actually why I bought it

It’s not.

All that said, it’s a gripping page turner set in Edinburgh and France and features a clique of super rich students who invite the rather less wealthy main protagonist, Clare, into their midst to help them in their untoward aspirations.

Clare has a dark secret that the author, Heather Darwent, in her accomplished debut, successfully hides for a large part of the novel.

What Darwent skilfully executes is a gruesome story that isn’t actually that gruesome, but features a strong storyline and an ever interesting bunch of protagonists that interact with each other in increasingly unpredictable ways. It is skilfully plotted, very fast paced, genuinely intriguing and a classic page turner. I finished it in three days which must be some sort of record for me in recent times.

Highly recommended, although hardly life changing and no, it’s not as good as The Secret History.

Little is.

Also, a very good cover, but don’t judge it on that.

Schmigadoon: TV review (Apple +)

Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!

I’ll start with a disclaimer. If you don’t like musicals walk away now ‘cos you ain’t gonna like this.

If you DO like musicals you are in for one helluva treat when you tune into this baby.

Jeana and I devoured this last night in one big juicy helping. Howling with laughter and wide mouthed in astonishment at the quality of this brand new musical by Cinco Paul (writer of The Lorax and Despicable me).

It’s a full on demolition of (but really adulation of) the musical theatre genre, specifically the 40’s and 50’s (Oklahoma, Kiss Me Kate, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, The Music Man) and the sixties (Godspell and Sound of Music).

The quality of the music throughout is outstanding, as is the choreography, but what makes the difference is to drop in a musical theatre hating character in one of the two central roles.

Built around the construct of Brigadoon (get the name? nice Jewish take on it) a musical in which two American tourists stumble upon a mysterious Scottish village that appears for only one day every 100 years.

In this take on it the tourists are Josh and Mellissa two doctors who are falling out of love and are on an outdoors course to reconnect.

They get lost in a forest and, sure enough, in the mist is a bridge to what turns out to be Schmigadoon. Once over the bridge they cannot return to the real world until they have found true love. Will it be with each other or each with an inhabitant of Schmigadoon.

The opening song is a pure rip on Oklahoma’s title song and a basket auction later in the series is a direct take on the key scene in the same. It’s hilarious.

Every principle in this is outrageously funny, the script is camp and there’s no shying away from the gayness of the genre and its leading men (not all male MT singers are gay, I should point out as a further disclaimer, but the odd one is known to be, including Alan Cumming who revels in his role as the coming out mayor).

Barry Sonnenfeld, director, looks like he’s died and gone to heaven with this lavish production.

Everything, but everything in this pastiche is crafted with love. Even though it’s an absolute pisstake at its core it’s still reverential to the genre and, boy, if this made it to the stage it would sell out.

An absolute BANGER from start to finish.

Next up…Schmicago.