I spent Easter quietly. Watching films that seemed oddly appropriate. V for Vendetta, an old film with Natalie Portman and John Hurt, where the line 'artists tell lies, to tell the truth, politicians tell lies to hide the truth', should headline as the motto of the year, if not the decade. The first part is definitely mine.
In V, the establishment created fear to keep control and everyone decided to wear masks and then simultaneously take them off, in revolution. And Parliament was blown up and all the politicians were sliced to pieces. I believe there is a group that wears the Guy Fawkes mask. I had tapped already into much of the thinking and themes behind this film. It echos the more recent Parasite where everyone accepts their status, their box, their place, to their detriment.
And then Anatomy of a Scandal where a smooth-talking liar politician curates the truth to his own needs continually betrays his beautiful but carefully constructed cold wife. The man belongs to an Oxford club that strongly resembles the Bullingdon and/or The Riot Club (film of the same name), of self-righteous entitlement which they rehearse with religious rigor. They get away with rape continually, disarming with charm, but not - probably, possibly - murder - in this particular story anyway. In real life, I believe they regularly do. I admit, there were moments watching this series that made me go cold with recognition. I admit I haven't met the equivalent at Cambridge. It probably exists although Homerton is a progressive college, so there wouldn't be time or space for this thinking. Or lack of it.
I checked out Wag the Dog, about a false war being manufactured by media to help a failing politician, who wants and needs to be portrayed as a hero, and detract from his lies.
Someone suggested I watch the Jimmy Saville documentary but I think that would have been a bit too much. Although I am told he was a devout Catholic.
As a child at Easter, I remember when it was Ben Hur and the chariot race, and my Christianity always being reborn. Somehow Easter was more powerful that way than Christmas - rebirth more than birth. An inspiring story, or parable, inspires humans to be empowered.
I would receive a collection of eggs, which I would bit-by-bit demolish by June, my birthday. Easter chocolate always tasted better than at any other time of year. The shining colourful packaging, the colour, the secret, the breaking of the egg, the always pleasant surprise.
This year, no eggs. Gifting them, but not receiving them. And that was fine.
Watching the BBC and ITV News, it appeared life was not imitating art. It was attempting to ignore it.