Thursday 25 January 2024

THE MALE SCRIPT - POOR THINGS

 I've just realised so many Christmas films read off the male script.   It wasn't really until I had to write about favourite Christmas films and had to analyse them in more depth I realised, everything centres around the male protagonist. The woman is something to be rescued, or is by default, an object where things happen to her.   My favourite film Chitty Chatty Bang Bang has a rather gormless (admittedly ok dancer) male protagonist, hapless, and meeting Truly Scrumptious who is made happy just by being loved by this 'lovely lonely' man.  

Then there's Home Alone, where the protagonist is again male, the mother has to go back and is the guilt ridden one, the father literally the absent one looking after the rest admittedly in rainy Miami and for Home Alone 2, Paris.   Nothing about the boy being irresponsible or probably possibly enjoying being by himself.  If I was the mother I would let the father take the lot of them away and take time for myself.   Go travel to Japan, perhaps take one child, the favourite and leave the rest behind. They all seem very over indulged and petulant any way, and that older brother.  Ugh.   But I suppose if you have that many children, you enjoy the company.    Is it only me who finds that uncle really annoying? 

Then there's Die Hard, which again is around a man, who rescues the day, from another man, and the woman is saved, although admittedly she does have a career and a maid called Marlana (is it Marlena?) beings with M 

Elf is male, It's a Wonderful Life, its about a male who messes up and then is redeemed by another (male) angel, ditto The Bishop's Wife, which is about a male vicar rescued by a male angel although the title of the film is about the woman but only in the role of a wife, so basically its still about the man she's married to. She only has purpose because she happens to be married to the vicar and flirted with by the angel.   

But probably the most chauvinist is Scrooge, where it's' all about him, his past, present and future, where he is fixed and redeemed.   Having just spent the last seven years writing a biography of a man, who had a host of women looking after him, following after him, I have felt a bit like trawling through his life like a ghost observing the scenarios in his past from various perspectives, including his own like a Who done it/who did it psychological murder mystery.   The women in his life have been merely buffers he brushed up against like a ball on a pinball machine, aiming for the jackpot, in order to fulfil his goal. He accomplished a lot but again without them, he could not have achieved what he did, but they are the B listers, the bit part players, paragraphs or one liners, who are happy, sad, angry at having met him.   

I feel the narratives of women in life reflect the narratives in the things we watch.   It's just that women don't have enough female narratives.  Even the super heroes who are women have more camera angles on their bums and boobs than they do on their (stunning cheekbones) face.   And this starts at school.  Get women to earn more than men.  To have that financial freedom.  Then the narratives will change and Scrooges ghosts won't bother turning up.  Least of all to fix a tight fisted old money lender. 


Thursday 16 November 2023

ALL LIT UP


The Christmas lights at Kew Gardens are magnificent this year. If you can go, please do, as they have surpassed themselves.   Incorporating ideas from a wide variety of sources, with over three quarters of their lighting LED, and all sustainable products. 








Attractions include Lili, an abstract series of towering, illuminated flowers by TILT, captivates visitors. ArtAV introduces Trapezoid, among the longest light tunnels at Kew, alongside a cascade of over 400 lights adorning Camellia Walk. The Hive, an evocative representation of a beehive with 1000 glowing LED lights and an entrancing score, makes its trail debut. Returning favourites include Pitaya’s Spark Ballet, a dance of 24 lanterns, and Candles, suspending a hundred flickering flames to enchant passageways. Admire the Christmas Cathedral and the reimagined Fire Garden, illuminating Kew's oldest Victorian glasshouse with 300 candles and mesmerizing LED displays. Each display punctuates a journey through the park, which is this year, not only dramatic and enchanting– as it usually is – but many times, extremely poignant. Music has been well chosen throughout to capture the fragility of nature, and messages in lights drawn bright about how we should save the bees, be respectful of nature and the planet.  The trees are carefully lit, unlike some Christmas light trails I have followed where all semblance of nature is subsumed by luminescent pink and orange dancing mushrooms, Cinderella’s and for some odd reason, Big Bens, which have nothing to do with nature or Christmas for that matter.  

 

The day I visited it was cool but not cold and not raining. When it is cold (skies clear) ones wants to jog round rather than stroll. When its raining (and therefore warmer) the lights are blurred.  It was just right as I walked (it takes an hour even without children) and there are stops for food (the usual mulled wine, mince pies and for some reason waffles which now need to be covered in cheese et al.   There are huge robins, stars perched in trees, portals of light, and a lake which becomes a sky of passing clouds, and then Northern Lights, and then flowing stream.  It is mesmerizing and memorable.  Father Christmas is in his home about a third of the way through, with his hut and heater, and the huge greenhouses are lit to resemble something out of Spirited Away, and Chinese palaces, while the final curtain call is the son et Lumiere over the lake, with its dancing fountains.   

 

With all that is happening with climate change, and the gentle messages that pervade throughout this trail, I found myself quite tearful.   We must not only sustain and be responsible with nature, but we must also regenerate, or else the lights will go out. For all of us.   

 

Embrace the seasonal magic at Kew and Glow Wild with tickets available at www.kew.org.

 

Tuesday 10 October 2023

THE MADNESS OF GLOBAL MENTAL HEALTH DAY

 I've spent over an hour talking to my energy supplier about an outstanding amount which has been outstanding for over three years. I contacted the energy ombudsman who are nowhere near as sharp as the financial ombudsman at marking their own homework, and am stressed despite teaching yoga at seven, two work outs today and wanting to visit Epsom to see the amazing Horton Centre and the events there.   I overran the conversation with the energy company, and didn't get to the event.  E On Next are crap. Changed energy supplier.  Contacted Martin Lewis.  

There's obviously a buzz about electricity in my life at the moment. The house in France has suddenly developed issues with its electrics which are now costing over £2k.   Admittedly this is French 'stranger' prices, which are usually double that of the locals, but again, annoying and I am investigating if it is a cost that is able to wait till the spring. Although knowing the local workers, they will double the price, especially if they read this blog. 

Then back to editing and writing, a source of calm, although one particular narrative I'm working on has been on going - a bit like the E ON Next thing.  

As I will be holding a workshop on basically seeing the funny side and the importance of seeing the funny side to resolve issues at the Hawkswood Centre next week, I will attempt to do the same. I usually end up putting it somewhere at some point in a novel, but at the moment, I just think everyone is a fucking nuisance.  

Friday 22 September 2023

FALSE PROPHETS AND PROFITEERS

 I listened to Russell Brand's podcast occasionally.   He interviewed I believe some genuinely good people. It will not have escaped him all that surfaces from now on, is a way of showing what he would often discuss in his podcasts.  Namely how establishment in all forms hides the truth, manipulates, misdirects, 'turns a blind eye' whatever that quaint little phrase means (plausible deniability I think they call it in court),  lied in plain sight, and got away with it.  

In the podcasts, Brand often claimed greed governed these organisations and they were not seeking truth, or the good for and of society. In knowingly ignoring his behaviour, these organisations have given weight to an argument he has relentlessly spouted over the years since he became a born-again wounded healer. There are a lot of these wounded healers about, offering their services for payment, having been through countless therapy sessions themselves, they have learnt by rote the vocabulary, and body language, and turned and twisted it, in the same way a coercive abuser behaves.  They abuse under the pretext of supporting.  But then again, so has religion and politicians over the years.  

Such is his ego, he will believe he is a Christ-like figure, putting himself out there, to illustrate how what he said all along was true.  How he has martyred himself to prove a point.   He claims establishment lies and co operates for the greater good - or greater greed - to maintain profit.  The only reason not to 'out' the abusers if they have more dirt on you than you have on them, and/or you make them a lot of money.   

Brand is one of a growing number of false prophets and profiteers who are increasingly preying on the vulnerable, in search of authenticity and guidance, because there is increasingly little authenticity and credible coherent guidance originating from religion, politicians, police, media, all of whom have shown themselves to be corrupt and corruptible.  The health service is broken through mismanagement both within and without - by consecutive governments.  Education and educationalists are bogged down in the ludecy of bureaucracy and attempting to devalue the role of teacher to one of social worker because parents don't parent.   Our so called leaders are appalling specimens, unworthy of the masses who are in their droves turning off their TVs, their radio, and challenging social constructs, some which should have been redundant decades ago, others more valuable. The baby always goes out with the bath water. 

The stories told by the women Brand is alleged to have abused triggered me, as I have found myself in a similar position on occasion when I was younger, and it was out of naivety or luck I managed to walk away, most of the time.  RB is the tip of iceberg. There are others who are disingenuous, dishonest, abusers, who still earn large corporations too much money for them to fail and fall.  They are fawned upon by the media, and validated, having seemingly become respectable, wounded healers, wanting to share their happy clappy brand of monetised healing, attempting to buy back their souls, by selling out others.   

Friday 28 July 2023

FROM BOMB TO BOMBSHELL TO ALICE AND KICKING - PATRIARCHAL WAR GAMES

Entering summer madness mode aren't we?  The heat may not have reached the UK, but we are on fire so many other ways. The former Brexit banker known as Farage is creating a stink because banks didn't want his money because, in playground speak, they didn't like him.  I'm sure it's more complex than that, not that the papers would or could tell all, possibly because he knows some of the publishers anyway.   And men get emotional about money.  And any former banker is never a former banker. They always think in asset and liability terms.   Bottom feeders, focusing on the bottom line.  Tis a pity this story won't release more about Farage and his money, where it came from etc., but then that really would be opening up a can of worms, something no bank wants to happen.  

But to more serious news, just watched Oppenheimer, which suggested that nuclear bombs will end the earth. Nope the earth will end us. The earth is on a tilt, something to do with water, I read somewhere, the Antarctic is dissolving which is awful but the 'powers' are pleased because then allegedly they are able to drill for oil,  and volcanos are exploding more, and everyone is still intent on going to Greece, Turkey, southern Italy in the summer, with their families despite the fact it will be too hot to go out after a certain time and if you don't get sunstroke, skin cancer you may just dehydrate and faint as I did one year in Turkey (not even mad dogs went out that year in the mid day sun - just nutty English women..).  See summer madness for you. 

Anyway, back to bombs.   Extraordinary performance by Cillian Murphy, and the supporting cast, but he is the mainstay of each frame.   The bomb is not the star of the show, just a catalyst.   Downey Junior plays a politician to perfection.  Vindictive and patient hiding in the shadows, was a line that stung the audience, but then it was a Richmond audience and I am sure there are a lot of those who look out for the shadows and many who are in them.  Politicians came out of it very badly, as in Hollywood films they always do - as do lawyers who are not the main character, and bankers.   They know who the bad guys are.   In fairytale land only the 'good' people will leave and all the horrid people will suffer unimaginable suffering and then disappear. Poof. Although that's subjective and based on perception and politicians, religion, certain media etcetera, do everything in their power to smudge, distort, blur that perception, so that in the end you don't trust anyone.  Which was their game plan in the first place. 

Chris Nolan really does not know what to do with his female stars. He wastes them, even in what I feel is his best film Inception, they are used sparingly, objectified to the point of being ornaments on the sideboard.  Florence Pugh, in it only four times, although over exposed in three, is wasted and still manages to be amazing.  Emily Blunt, again under used is brilliantly brittle.  Downey Junior, away from his Iron Man, superb as a malevolent opportunist as is the case in politics.  Fascinating to learn Hitler allegedly didn't want to invest in research into the atomic bomb as he viewed it as a Jewish weapon.  Oppenheimer was complex but then genius are complex. It is the shallow puerile ones, as this film illustrates, who wait in the shadows deciding to drop the bomb. The government did everything they could to trash Oppenheimer's reputation, but the scientists who are collegiate (a concept quite alien to  politicians and politics for that matter) banded together despite their differences, which were obviously academic. The bigotry overwhelmed their greed for power. 

So when I went to see Barbie (full house, lots of men there surprisingly but all under 30) I was expecting puff candy floss pink. A film which celebrated women, where men played the bit parts.   The media played up to the patriarchy in the 'real world' and focused on Ryan Gosling's fab performance as Ken who only exists when Barbie plays with him.  A bit like Henry VIII only being remembered because he has six wives.   In Barbieland, the women were in charge of everything, everything was pink, there was no eating, just pretend, no drinking, just pretend, no waves or water, just pretend, and women could be anything they wanted to be. Just pretend.  No cellulite and no flat feet.  Helen Mirren did a wicked take as a narrator.   There was a feminist soliloquy which everyone clapped - the girls did and some of the boys although they know the world is still resolutely patriarchal.  The most revealing thing was - and I was shocked by this - I know Ken. I have dated Ken. I have been taken back to Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House.    OK, not admittedly anyone as attractive and buffed as Ryan Gosling, but definitely plastic and shallow.   In fact I know a lot of Kens. Or rather I knew. One unnervingly behaved so much like the Ken when he was at his most plastic, he was nothing more than a doll to be toyed with. And I loved the swipe at Pride and Prejudice. Clever.   

And then I saw Alice in Wonderland in Kew Gardens which was amazing.  I interviewed the writer and director and Alice and Mad Hatter, and told them about The Intelligent Gardener, my take on Alice who decided to not go down the rabbit hole and write her own narrative, taking on the narrator with big boots on. Real kick ass.    Every production has strong characters. Sometimes its the protagonist, sometimes its the anti hero, sometimes its 'the other guy' who steals the scene.   In this one it was the Queen of Hearts. She is so angry.  Like raging Queen.  Brilliant.  In the original the King is simpering, but in this one he comes across between Boris Johnson (big belly) and City Trader.  He is still brow beaten by the Queen. In fact there are a lot of angry women in Alice in Wonderland, and a lot of afraid men.  Which brings me nicely back to Barbie and Openheimer, where oddly it was just the same and all the men are puerile war mongers and women angry queens.  And some of the men are too. 



Tuesday 27 June 2023

SPIRIT OF SUFFRAGETTE - ALIVE AND KICKING

 Men are afraid because women are angry and women are angry because women are afraid. Just that when men are afraid they punch and kick and when women are angry they cry.   So it looks like the reverse.   Being feminine is being empathetic and angry.   I thought of all those things when I attended an event at the Museum of London Audley Square Spirit of Suffragette meet.   Fascinating meeting the panel for a lively and embracing discussion on women's voices.   I also thought back to one of my first journalist gigs at the BFI, to celebrate, oddly enough, the suffragette movement.  Barbara Castle, then minister for education, was there, signing copies of her recently published autobiography. She was autographing books, as women some of whom had brought their little dogs queued to speak to and have their books signed, but the dogs they brought were taking gulps of her Gin and Tonic.   I looked down and said I would get her another one, which I promptly did, waiting patiently for her to finish. She turned, clapped her hands on her lap which was her way, and said 'what can I do for you young lady?"  

I told her, "my name is Sarah Tucker, I'm writing a piece for the Londoner's Diary, Evening Standard..."

I asked questions, she gave straight answers. I asked further questions, writing down what was pertinent to the suffragette movement, and thanked her.   She looked at me.  

"You been a a journalist long?" she asked. 

Shit, what have I done. 

"Erm, only a month or so."

"Don't change. You are good. You're a listener. You listen and ask good questions. Don't lose your femininity.  A lot of female journalists think they need to be tougher and nastier than the men. They don't. Being a woman is more than enough."

I was so taken aback, I didn't get her to sign a copy of her autobiography.   And so I thanked her.  

I looked at my book and thought, no, I'm gonna ask her.  I went over to the lectern, from which she was just about to give a speech before the film started, and I asked her. She took the book and looked at me.  Returned it to me and then I thanked her and walked away.  On the bus I phoned in filing the copy.  And then I opened my book.  In it read the words 'Dear Sarah, Never let it be a man's world, Love Barbara Castle'.

I would add, never let it be a puerile man's world.   Never forgotten her words, or the spirit of her words. Doesn't matter how you do it, but always subvert the patriarchal, misogynistic narrative in the way you live, work, speak, write.   And keep hold of your drinks when little dogs are around.

Thursday 15 June 2023

THE STYLE (ISH) SCREAMERS

 I attended a Harry Styles concert this week. I didn't have a daughter in tow, I went by myself as it was my 59th birthday and wanted to treat myself.   I came away feeling a bit like David Attenborough going into the jungle for the first time, and being surprised by what I found.  Harry is a very handsome man, good singer, with a penchant for dungarees which gives him the feel of an Andy Pandy with sparkles.   In this case, loads of sparkling hearts.   He bounced about the stage like a tigger, engaged and cared for the audience - on my night helping a girl to 'come out', and someone needed water in the audience.   Everything was very well orchestrated.  The musicians were on point, sufficiently trendy, cool or whatever the word is for trendy and cool at the moment, and the warm up bands - Mila Diaz (I think) who was like an Alannis Morisette both in style and lyrics (talking break ups) and Wet Leg who everyone seemed to know. They were across between Bjork and Coldplay.  Really liked them, but boy the lyrics.  And then Harry who was on for two hours, with four encore tracks.   But it wasn't him that blew my mind, it was the audience. 

They screamed.  They sang verbatim to the warm up songs (Angels Robbie Williams, Bohemian Rhapsody Queen) and knew every single word of every single one of Harry's tracks.   Sometimes I was unable to hear him because the audience of 80,000 strong women, many of whom I am told will attend two or three times this week at Wembley, were screaming so much.   Think Elvis Presley/Beatles/Donny Osmond fans.   Wet Leg did a screaming song before hand and the audience showed they had lungs on them. 

Very pleased I went. If anyone wants a good scream and not feel alone.  Wants a powerful DGF vibe - go see Harry.   Just take the boas, cowboy hats and sequins, and if you are one of the few blokes there, go as they did, dress as a banana.  Lots of banana blokes there.