Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Vertigo

We need to put this film into more comprehensible terms.  A girl reaches puberty and has her first period.  At the same time a band of travelling players enters her home town. They are joined by a group of missionaries.  Both will entertain the inhabitants for a week. There are to be many stories, much licentious behaviour, some sermons and plenty of ascetic bloodletting. The burning of witches is set to be the highlight of these seven tumultuous days. Put into such workaday prose the picture is clear: the Lord of Misrule has come to this medieval town.

Sunday, 15 February 2015

Friday, 13 February 2015

Wake Me Up!

I’m falling asleep.  Not work. Not the company of bores. Not even the after-effects of an opening night in bed with a beautiful woman. No. The usual culprits are not to blame. It is art, yes, the very thing that should be keeping me awake, who is today’s criminal.  To be more precise: it is this film, The Colour of Pomegranates, that is guilty of this most serious of crimes.  It is too rich.  We eat a king’s meal of thirteen courses, and the belly wears the crown. My poor mind! Smothered with snoozes, it is reduced to dreaming for this obese master. Such a terrible servitude. My stomach rules my imagination. I am satiated with imagery.  

Saturday, 31 January 2015

Self-Portrait with Aureole

The rough jabs of a craftsman’s knife carves out some simple elegancies. A refined person. A saint. The face of a gentlemen climbing out of a peasant’s head.

Thursday, 29 January 2015

France: A Forgotten History

The summer of 1914 found the Moulin family following their usual programme, setting out on the train to Avignon to spend two months in their house in St Andiol. The newspapers were reporting the trial in Paris of Madame Caillaux, wife of a former prime minister Joseph Caillaux who was both a powerful ally of the Radical Party and an ally of the socialist and anti-militarist leader, Jean Jaurès. Earlier in the year the editor of Le Figaro, hoping to discredit Caillaux who was considered to be insufficiently bellicose, threatened to publish letters exchanged between him and his current wife before he had divorced his first wife. The minister’s wife, Henrietta, dealt with this matter by calling on the editor in his office and shooting him dead. She was acquitted of murder by an assize jury on 28 July, a verdict which was applauded by radicals all over France, and one which may help explain why France has never acquired a gutter press worthy of the name.

….

The German arrival had been expected for two days. The last French unit based in Chartres, the 1st Battalion of the 7th Motorised Dragoons, which had been covering the French retreat, had been ordered to withdraw at midnight, after which nothing stood between the city and the enemy except scattered detachments from the 26th Regiment of Senegalese Sharpshooters. The tendency of colonial troops to stand their ground and fight, with or without their officers, causing considerable German casualties, had infuriated General Koch-Erpach and when soldiers of the 8th Division of the Wehrmacht captured Senegalese soldiers in the Eure-et-Loir they shot them out of hand. There had been a battle between Senegalese stragglers and men of the 8th Division outside Chartres on 16 June, at the end of which the Germans shot 165 Senegalese prisoners, and stripped the bodies of their name tags. A further fifty Senegalese were rounded up and shot near Chartainvilliers, ten kilometres north-east of Chartres.

These infantrymen, speaking little French and abandoned by their officers, usually recruited from Muslim or animist villages in the West African bush, were the last French soldiers to die in defence of the spiritual centre of Christian France.

….

In both zones there was an extreme sense of unreality. So, in Bron, a suburb of Lyon, in the Vinatier mental hospital, during the occupation, 2,000 out of 2,890 patients were allowed to die of exposure and starvation. Eight hundred died in the first twenty-nine months between July 1940 and November 1942, and 1,200 in the following twenty-two months. During this period the psychiatrists who continued to supervise their patients noted that their daily calorie level had dropped by forty-four per cent, and used the daily ward rounds to gather data for theses which bore titles such as ‘The delirium of want’. Symptoms of this condition included eating the bark of trees in the hospital grounds, eating faecal matter and drinking urine, habits which had not previously been observed at Vinatier. Starvation was now treated as a novel form of mental illness. What was significant about this situation was not the shortage of food in the hospital of Lyon - there was a general and serious food shortage throughout the city for most of the war - but the reaction of the psychiatrists, who attempted to explain away the fact that their patients were starving to death by means of a bland professional formula. (Patrick Marnham, The Death of Jean Moulin: Biography of a Ghost)

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Even Bad Books….

…contain good things.

On a winter evening amidst a driving snowstorm a man on horseback arrived at an inn, happy to have reached a shelter after hours of riding over the wind-swept plain on which the blanket of snow had covered all paths and landmarks. The landlord who came to the door viewed the stranger with surprise and asked him whence he came. The man pointed in the direction straight away from the inn, whereupon the landlord, in a tone of awe and wonder, said, ‘Do you know that you have ridden across the Lake of Constance?’ At which the rider dropped stone dead at his feet.

This is the legend that Kurt Koffka, the German Gestalt psychologist, uses to demonstrate the difference between two different modes of reality - that which exists in nature, and that which exists inside a person’s head.

Sunday, 11 January 2015

Critic as Clerk: An Update

The piece is so long.  With enough space between the words it would make a small book; one imagines Zone Books publishing it.  So long.  And I was lazy.  I rushed to post...

...but it was only a draft.

Later I felt guilty.  Then there was Xmas.  I was, I realised, giving away shoddy goods. So I rewrote it, and added a great deal of new material.

Finished at last.  My Critic as Clerk is ready to meet the world.

Because the piece is very long, and because it has a complicated and confusing structure - there are far too many nested footnotes -, I have made a PDF version. It is available on request.